tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42053753037912383942024-02-18T22:46:26.539-06:00Life, the Universe and Everything ElseA mix of writing, traveling, reading, and reflecting on society.Corinnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09824827682737672167noreply@blogger.comBlogger147125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4205375303791238394.post-59680674119222075702017-03-05T16:30:00.000-06:002017-03-05T16:30:07.237-06:00Ash Wednesday ReflectionsI have this weird cognitive dissonance in thinking about time post-Race, because I spent nearly a year organizing months based on location more than date. I have it in my head that Carnival/Mardi Gras and Ash Wednesday happened in Ecuador last year, which means February, so I feel like it should still be very much February and not almost the second week of March. It's like I have to relive those memories in order and I'm two weeks behind and haven't made it to Peru yet.<br />
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(Bad memories...my team almost didn't make it to Lima because someone thought it would be fun to have a "squad race" and gave us a day or two to plan our travel. But we prayed some "level 100" prayers and got earlier bus tickets than everyone else and won, and then got rewarded with massages at Final Debrief, probably for all the stress it caused.)<br />
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But anyways, I've been thinking about the interesting comparison between my Ash Wednesday experience this year and last year.<br />
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(For starters, there are no kids running around the streets spraying everyone with silly-string/foam stuff and dumping water on us.)<br />
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I joined the choir at my church about a month ago, so I asked to come in an hour early to work so I could leave with enough time to Metro home, eat, sit for a second, and then make it to the choir call on time. So for starters, I was a part of the structure of worship as compared to last year when it was about as unstructured as you can get. (Maybe not for all my non-denominational teammates, but hey, I'm Presbyterian. We like our structure.)<br />
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There something beautiful in both of those settings though.<br />
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Ecuador, a small room, everyone sweltering because it's miserably humid but staying after our day's work to gather together. Simple Bible readings, songs, no pastors, just the ashes. My team leader did an amazing job at putting together this basically impromptu service. (Not that it wasn't well thought out, because it was, but we just used what we had on hand. I think the ashes were burnt paper scraps and we listened to music on an iPhone.)<br />
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I have lots of magical, mountaintop moments in my life that have come from quiet gatherings like this. Twelve people gathered for foot-washing at camp. Three people gathered to listen to music. Seven people gathered for the imposition of ashes.<br />
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The aesthetic appeal comes from the simplicity, the closeness. The thought that this was how the church started, not as an obligation or cultural practice but as something meaningful and personal. I wouldn't trade the "big church" opportunities I got growing up, like children's musicals and choir trips and handbells and youth group. But thanks be to God that we can still find time for the small moments too.<br />
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Washington, D.C., a stone-walled Sanctuary with stained glass, everyone complaining because it's 70 degrees in February, tired after a long day's work but gathered together. Choral chants, prayers and a short message, What Wondrous Love is This, ashes and Communion. The little ironic smiles shared when the choir stands up to sing and the pastor gives a long prayer.<br />
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As a history lover, as a story lover, what touches my soul the most about celebrating this service in a 100+ year old church is knowing how many people have done this exact thing in this exact space. Knowing that the words may change, the faces may change, but the heart is always there. The heart of love, the heart of God.<br />
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I love to be in spaces full of ghosts. Not that I think there are prank-pulling spirits roaming the halls, haunting old buildings, but the idea of people who once were and are gone. So many people have worshiped in this sanctuary, but now they are memories. Their bodies were here, but now they're gone. The important thing is, they <i>were </i>here. Their spirits are still here with us. It's astounding to think of all those who've gone before us.<br />
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And then I think about what Ash Wednesday means to me.<br />
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I say that my two favorite holidays are Christmas and Easter, but I think Easter has a little edge. I mostly am obsessed with the music, which makes it awesome to have a month of lead-up to sing before the actual day where we get to sing even more. But what Easter has that doesn't quite have the same punch in Christmas is the contrast. Sure, we're waiting in Advent. But waiting for a baby is happy, excited waiting.<br />
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Waiting for the cross is so different.<br />
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I love the contrast, the solemnity of Ash Wednesday and Maundy Thursday versus the big, loud joyfulness of Easter morning. It's a beautiful reflection of humanity.<br />
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And it is in the music of solemnity that I so often hear one of my favorite foreign words.<br />
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Misericordia.<br />
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(We sing a lot in Latin in this choir, so lots of <i>miserere</i>.)<br />
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I don't think I had learned this word until I went to Spain, where I heard it plenty at mass. My first thought was, 'What does God have to do with misery and discord?'<br />
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But that's not what it means. Quite the opposite, in fact.<br />
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Misericordia.<br />
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Mercy.<br />
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Jesus on the cross, the very picture of misery and discord, finishes both of them off.<br />
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Mercy wins.<br />
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Misery and discord are banished.<br />
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That's what is so compelling to me in this time of Lent. In our great, big, terrible, beautiful world, that mercy will still keep shining through.Corinnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09824827682737672167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4205375303791238394.post-80431989710026798472017-02-26T13:20:00.000-06:002017-02-26T13:20:14.799-06:00On Surviving the UnlovingY'all.<br />
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I'm tired, y'all.<br />
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Partially I was tired of dealing with winter up North-ish, but we've thankfully gotten a reprieve in the weather this past week.<br />
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I wish that were the case for our society.<br />
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I'm so tired of living in a place that thinks it's more important to keep transgender individuals out of a bathroom where they fit in than it is to keep <u><i>cisgender, heterosexual male predators</i></u> out of bathrooms...or locker rooms...or the highest offices of government.<br />
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I'm so tired of living in a place where people defend the Muslim ban with their fear of a fringe sect halfway around the world bent on destroying, well, everyone. Where Republican politicians mourn for made-up incidents while ignoring the hundreds upon thousands of innocent Muslim lives taken by ISIS across the globe.<br />
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[And somehow that 5 year old Syrian kid is going to like us better when he grows up in a refugee camp hearing that the U.S. abandoned him instead of providing shelter and helping him recover from the traumas of war...right.]<br />
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I'm so tired of living in a place where two darker-skinned men can be gunned down by a white man shouting racial slurs and it's no immediately condemned as a hate crime. Where crimes committed by white supremacists are pardoned and ignored but law-abiding communities are targets of police surveillance.<br />
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I'm so tired of hearing the comparison of, "Well, you lock your doors at night don't you? That's what we're trying to do for the country."<br />
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You know why we <i>really</i> have to lock our doors at night? Because we live in a capitalist society that thinks it's okay for rich politicians to take money away from educating the poor, feeding the poor, providing a basic right to life for the poor, just so they can buy a second yacht with their tax breaks. Because letting non-white people vote does not immediately erase CENTURIES of bigotry, systematic oppression, lack of opportunity, and violence done to their communities.<br />
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I'm so tired of living in a so-called "Christian nation" that has never had a state religion, not from its founding, for a good reason. The irony is, these leaders we have [and pardon the language here, but really] don't give a damn about good stewardship of the earth, loving their neighbors <i>as themselves</i>, feeding the hungry, visiting those in prison, etc.<br />
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They have corrupted the beautiful gospel of PEACE to bring war on people who don't look like them.<br />
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They have corrupted the beautiful gospel of JOY to tear families apart because they weren't born in the right place and didn't know the right people.<br />
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They have corrupted the beautiful gospel of FELLOWSHIP to reject and disparage the refugees who want to come make this country great.<br />
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They have corrupted the beautiful gospel of HEALING to deny their fellow human beings the right to live a healthy, productive life.<br />
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They have corrupted the beautiful gospel of LOVE to bring hate and intolerance to God's rainbow array of children.<br />
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And if they don't have love...from my religious standpoint, they're just banging their drums and cymbals. They build up their earthly wealth and power, that rich man feasting while Lazarus starves outside. I know the God of Wonders can work a miracle with these people. I desperately hope and pray it will happen, for the sakes of all those who are suffering and will suffer under them. But I see the downward spiral they're on. I see the downward spiral this country is on.<br />
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Somehow, we've retained this idea that America = #1!!!!!!!!!<br />
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Number one in what, though?<br />
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Obesity?<br />
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Incarceration?<br />
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Drug use?<br />
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Cost of higher education?<br />
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Infant mortality?<br />
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Bankruptcies brought on by medical costs?<br />
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Bloated defense spending?<br />
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Gun violence?<br />
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Y'all, I know there's a whole theology about the end times and Revelation and s*@$ hitting the fan, but...I don't want to see that in my lifetime. I don't want to give up the fight against evil. I don't want to lose hope for ending poverty, and domestic violence, and the school to prison pipeline. I don't want to stop dreaming that we'll end the refugee crisis, and welcome migrants, and love our neighbors.<br />
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I really hope y'all are dreaming and hoping and praying this with me. I hope you care. Because I have to believe that we can still turn this sinking ship around.Corinnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09824827682737672167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4205375303791238394.post-39302615977574235202017-01-30T21:32:00.000-06:002017-01-30T21:43:42.208-06:00A Tale of Two MenI was going to write a follow-up to my Women's March post next, but this administration moves too quickly on to new targets and I felt it wasn't quite thematic with everything else going on in the world. So here is my take on the targeting of Muslim refugees:<br />
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I want to tell a couple of stories.</div>
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The first comes from the pastor at my new church up here in D.C. It was delivered the Sunday before the election, and it became a prayer, a hope to hold onto in the ensuing weeks.</div>
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There once was a wealthy man. He worked very diligently at his job because he felt it was performing a service for his country. (Unfortunately, he worked in an unpopular field which didn't win him any friends.) As he had no family to support, he gave away half of his money away each year - donating food, goods, and funds to people in need. He felt good about himself, but knew something was missing.</div>
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Then one day, he heard about a radical new preacher that was coming through town. This man spoke about community and belonging and forgiveness. 'That's the kind of man I want to meet,' the wealthy man thought, so he went to a rally. By the time he got there, all the good seats had been taken. The crowd was so large that the (rather short) rich man couldn't see any of what was happening. So he did the next best thing.</div>
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He climbed a tree.</div>
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The preacher noticed him up the tree and called him over. The crowd grudgingly parted so he could get to the preacher. "I'm going to come to your house for dinner tonight," the preacher said. The rich man was so excited to have a guest, he ran home and let his servants know to prepare a feast.</div>
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His life was changed.</div>
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Now, if you ever went to Sunday School, you may have some arguments about how I told this story. "That's Zacchaeus," you might be saying, "only Zacchaeus wasn't such a nice guy. He was a crooked tax collector!"</div>
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I know that version of the story well. But back in November, our pastor invited us to consider a different translation that turns the story upside down. This was a fascinating perspective on the difference one little word can make.</div>
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At the end of the story as we know it, Zacchaeus says contritely, "Lord, I <b>will give</b> half my possessions to the poor and anyone I have defrauded, I will pay back four times over."</div>
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But what if he's really saying: Lord, I <b>give </b>(as in, <i>already</i> give) half my possessions to the poor and <b>if </b>I have defrauded anyone, I will pay them back four times over.</div>
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What a difference that would make.</div>
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If Zacchaeus were running around, quietly helping his community and getting no thanks for it whatsoever. If they all thought he was the problem, and instead he was the solution.</div>
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Sadly, we have already seen that the country's new President is the first type of Zacchaeus, pre-Jesus. We know his charitable donations are a sham, we know his greed is more important to him than other people.</div>
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But wouldn't it be nice...</div>
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That became my prayer. That Trump would meet Jesus like Zacchaeus did, contritely, abundantly, enthusiastically. That all the billionaires he wants to have running the country would put Americans first, and not themselves. A prayer for generosity, selflessness, community.</div>
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I doubt it will ever happen. But with God, anything is possible. Even that.</div>
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This brings me to my second story. I think you'll recognize it as well.</div>
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There once was a king in a faraway land. His country had a historic population of foreigners - people with a different homeland and religion. In the past, they had been just a small fragment on the side of society. But they had begun to prosper, and the king was afraid.</div>
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He was afraid that they would steal jobs and resources from his citizens. He was afraid their differing religious traditions would detract from his people's beliefs. Frankly, he was afraid that they would become the majority and take all the benefits that he enjoyed away from him. He was afraid they would turn on him.</div>
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So first, he tried to take their prosperity. He refused to pay them what they were owed for their labor. He enacted laws that limited their opportunities for advancement. He enslaved them.</div>
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And it didn't work.</div>
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So then, he tried to isolate them. They were not allowed to move about as they pleased, they were forbidden to practice their religion.</div>
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And it didn't work.</div>
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So then, he tried to kill them.</div>
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And they rebelled.</div>
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A leader arose from amidst their suffering, a leader who had once been close to the king. He begged the king to see his people as the friends they were, not enemies. But the king was afraid, and he refused to budge. He clung to every last scrap of power, no matter the signs that went against him. And at last, he was defeated.</div>
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The people went free.</div>
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This is the story of the Pharaoh who ignored the ten plagues sent against Egypt in his blinding hatred of the Israelites. You might notice, xenophobia backfires on him. Pharaoh doesn't win in the end.</div>
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And neither will Trump.</div>
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Yes, he may cheat companies out of their hard-earned money and destroy small businesses so he can boost his own bottom line and fragile ego.</div>
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Yes, he may demonize refugee families because they have the wrong religion so that he can make America white again.</div>
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Yes, he may get people killed in hate crimes or by taking away their health care, so that institutional racism and no taxes for the wealthy can continue.</div>
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And I hate it. Don't get me wrong, I have not rolled over and died and accepted these terrible things. (At least, not on the good days.)</div>
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I HATE THIS.</div>
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With every fiber of my being, I hate the racism, sexism, xenophobia, homophobia, and greed that is currently helming this country.</div>
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But.</div>
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Even if he goes so far as to destroy our democracy in the short-term, we will come back from it. We will be stronger for it. We will be unified in our condemnation of hatred and oppression. Look at Germany - they had a similar situation begin 70ish years ago and now have a thriving democracy again.</div>
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I pray we don't go so far down this dark tunnel. I pray it desperately, that all these people will be safe. That no more babies will die in Syria, or escaping from it. That no more mamas will say goodbye to their children shot for being the wrong color. That no people will be attacked because their religious beliefs are the wrong offshoot of the same branch.</div>
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That no one will have to die because the minority picked a selfish, greedy, fearful guy to lead us.</div>
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So with that prayer, I want to offer hope. The next couple of years are going to majorly suck for a lot of people. There's no getting around that. We will have to be fighting against fascism 24/7, because there's always going to be something.</div>
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There's probably always going to be two things at once. (Please don't forget that the Joint Chiefs of Staff aren't as important for Trump to have as NATIONAL SECURITY advisers as his anti-Semitic, white nationalist chief of staff is.)</div>
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But history tells us that these weak men don't stay in power forever.</div>
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History tells us that fear is not a winning strategy.</div>
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First, they came for the Muslims, and we said NO FREAKING WAY.</div>
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There WILL be millions of people opposing Trump together, every day, until this is over.</div>
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Be one of them with me?</div>
Corinnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09824827682737672167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4205375303791238394.post-58474599197072938352017-01-22T20:59:00.000-06:002017-01-22T20:59:33.971-06:00Why I MarchI'm about to start blogging a lot, y'all.<br />
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Yesterday, as a still relatively new resident of the D.C. Metropolitan area, I had the great privilege to march with about 1 million of my fellow humans. (Plus a few dogs.) The whole day was full of positivity, empowerment, and unity.<br />
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A little old lady in a wheelchair got on our Metro train on the way to the rally, and the whole car cheered.<br />
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A little girl got separated from her family in the Metro station on the way back, and the whole station cheered when she was found and escorted down the escalator.<br />
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<b>We walked together, we stood together, we laughed together, we cheered together.</b><br />
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Today, I saw a post shared on Facebook by a woman listing her reasons for not marching. This, in and of itself, is fine with me. I can appreciate diversity in thought, unlike some elected officials. I cannot represent every woman in America. But then she starting writing things that got my blood boiling. Things along the lines of "We have it better here than lots of people around the world" and "You can't be victims and victors."<br />
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<b>Please, friends, don't miss the point so badly.</b><br />
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This march was not about whining. This march was not about painting ourselves as victims. This march was not about comparison. This march was not even about changing the minds of those power-hungry individuals who have just taken power.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Just because we <i>have been</i> victimized by institutional sexism, racism, etc., does not mean that we <i>are </i>victims. We are so much more than that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Just because we <i>have been</i> victimized by individual acts of violence, hatred, etc., does not mean that we <i>are </i>victims. We are so much more than that.</span><br />
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I march because I am proud to be a Christian and a feminist.<br />
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I march because "better" does not equal "solved or "erased." I won't be satisfied with the system getting better. I want the status quo overturned. (We're all living the reaction to our progress - electing a black man as our President, and trying to elect a woman - the racist/sexist minority came out of the woodwork and stole away the Republican party.)<br />
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I march because I resist authoritarianism.<br />
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I march because no one in a developed country should die from a treatable disease.<br />
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I march because I believe black people should be treated as people. And immigrants. And people with disabilities. If you're human, I want you to be treated as a person.<br />
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I march because I want to decrease the number of abortions. However, I realize that the best way to do so is with education and birth control, not banning potentially life-saving procedures.<br />
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I march because Black Lives Matter.<br />
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I march because I believe education is a good thing. Ignorance is bad. (And I believe not having a college degree does not make you automatically ignorant. Bill Gates dropped out of college, right? Self-education is just as important as schooling.)<br />
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I march because injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.<br />
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I march because I want girls to be able to be scientists and I want boys to be able to be teachers. For girls to be ambitious and boys to be gentle. For girls and boys to have the same opportunities and self-esteem.<br />
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I march because transgender people are attacked for using a bathroom.<br />
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I march because corporations should not be more important than their workers.<br />
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I march because the homophobic agenda is killing people. (Compared to the gay agenda which results in more sinister things like weddings, hugs, and rainbows.)<br />
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I march because this country has got to stop violating Native Americans and their sacred lands.<br />
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I march because the school to prison pipeline disgusts me.<br />
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I march because this is not normal. If it becomes normal, then we have lost. Not democrats. If people like Trump win, democracy loses. (Have you noticed that Russia can't get Putin out of power now that he has it? Remember how Hitler did that? If we give an inch, they will take a mile.)<br />
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I march because I reject a policy of appeasement. I will not let the haters come for my LGBTQ, Muslim, Latino, black, differently abled neighbors. I won't wait for them to come for me before I act.<br />
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I march because I believe in community. The only time I have ever felt unsafe in my new neighborhood was walking home the night after the election. I kept checking over my shoulder for an emboldened, misogynist white supremacist. Thankfully, the next day I dropped by the White House at the end of an Immigrant's Rights rally and remembered that I live in a safe place, a place where people join together "sin miedo."<br />
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I march because I have so many friends who do have to deal with the white supremacists.<br />
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I march because a "great" America does not include Jim Crow laws, lynching, voter suppression, reduced opportunities for women, unsafe abortions, and people going bankrupt to pay medical bills.<br />
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I march because I care.<br />
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And no amount of fascism is going to make me stop caring. No amount of apathy is going to stop me.<br />
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So I continue to march.Corinnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09824827682737672167noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4205375303791238394.post-30246148830802695182016-07-08T22:40:00.000-05:002016-07-08T22:40:10.618-05:00NumbI was going to begin this reentry to my old blog with a challenge to hope more, love better, and understand fuller. To envision a more positive future. To point out the ways that "Christian culture" in America could act a little more Christ-like.<div>
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But I can't do that today.</div>
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Today, I'm numb. I'm shocked. I'm tired.</div>
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I'm hopeless.</div>
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I haven't felt this hopeless in a long time. The memory of it had started to seep out of my bones, until I read the news last night. But I feel it settling in, pray that it will be abated tomorrow.</div>
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But will this senseless violence be abated tomorrow?</div>
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I doubt it.</div>
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And I wish, I wish, I wish that I could wave a magic wand and make it all go away. To erase the existence of racism. To bring back the lives that have been lost. To wipe away the tears shed by mothers, brothers, sons, girlfriends, too many to count. To eradicate prejudice and hate.</div>
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I wish.</div>
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But too many times in the month and a half that I've been home, I've woken up to a world where sound bites are more important than relationships. Where the fear of losing power makes people lash out rather than seek understanding. Where blame is shifted onto the victim rather than the perpetrator.</div>
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Enough is enough is enough.</div>
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And yet, I'm losing my capacity to hope that enough really is enough. That tragedy will spark preventative action. That rational minds will win out over fear-mongering lies. That our country will ever be the shining beacon it was envisioned to be - embracing the tired, the hungry, the poor. [Nowadays, embracing the gay, the Muslim refugee, the black.]</div>
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At this point, it feels like all the words have been spoken. All the stories shared. All the vigils prayed at. All the pleas for peace and gun control and fair treatment.</div>
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And yet.</div>
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49 names from Pulse in Orlando. <i>Forty nine</i>.</div>
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Alton Sterling.</div>
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Philando Castile.</div>
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And 5 more names from Dallas. Brent Thompson, Michael Krol, Patrick Zamarripa, Michael Smith, and Lorne Ahrens.</div>
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All I have left is one word. Listen.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Listen.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>Please </i>listen.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
If you are white, listen to the voices that have experienced police brutality, unequal education, racial profiling, and generations of oppression.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
If you are heterosexual and cisgender, listen to the voices that have experienced name-calling, physical assaults, discriminatory legislation, and attempts to "pray the gay away."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
If you are male or Christian or able-bodied or middle class or part of any other privileged group, listen to the voices that have negative experiences because they aren't like you.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Their stories are not about making you feel guilty. Their stories are not about comparing one group's pain to another's. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
No.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Their stories are their stories, just as much as yours and mine.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Their stories are about affecting change in our society. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Their stories are about making <i>all</i> of America better.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Right now, though, we just keep spinning around a merry-go-round cycle of violence and intolerance. We argue for stereotypes instead of against them. We treat the symptoms of societal ills instead of the root problem. We see a rise in hate speech, culminating in Donald Trump spreading slanderous lies about refugees, immigrants, minorities, women...and still having people willing to follow him.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Black people ask that it not be dangerous to walk/drive/exist while black. White people get offended and yell "We matter too!"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Gay people celebrate equal rights. Christians refuse to bake them cakes. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Cop kills innocent driver. Sniper shoots innocent cop.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The only way we have a shot at changing that is if we quit going around on this endless merry-go-round. If we take just a minute to listen to the people who are different from us.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Listen.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>Listen</i>.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Because I don't see how we can take much more of this without all our hope bleeding out and evaporating on the ground. Our idealism mocked and beaten to the point of no recognition. Our spirits destroyed, just like the lives that violence takes.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
They don't get to dream anymore, or love anymore, or rejoice anymore, or suffer anymore.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
They don't get to feel anymore.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But can we?</div>
Corinnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09824827682737672167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4205375303791238394.post-69825327863572429482015-02-23T20:01:00.000-06:002015-02-24T20:09:18.355-06:00AcceptedI've been thinking a lot about this word today, with the ice keeping me home from work. It's interesting, how your mindset can change when you move from "applying" to "accepted." For me, the fear kicks in. I start to doubt. It's as if, during the application process, I've been daring the program not to accept me. Knowing that I'm good enough and expecting them to see. But once that little word changes, I begin to worry that I've made a mistake. They've made a mistake, after all.<br />
<br />
A week before I left for Peru, I was on the verge of chickening out. (And ended up having the experience of a lifetime.)<br />
<br />
As I finally got ready to leave for Spain, I wondered if all the visa headaches would be worth it. (They were.)<br />
<br />
And now, I am happily announcing that I've been accepted into the World Race, my multi-country mission trip that I've been excited about for literally a year now. (Yay!)<br />
<br />
But also: eeek!<br />
<br />
I <i>know</i> that this is my calling, this is my passion, this is my route. And yet.<br />
<br />
And yet.<br />
<br />
I'm a little nervous. The doubts and questions start pouring in. I'm not the best at talking to new people, so am I really qualified to be a missionary? I don't have a ton of spiritual discipline, so am I really qualified to be a missionary? Etc, etc, etc.<br />
<br />
How interesting, that we humans do this to ourselves, despite the mountains of evidence saying YES! Go for it! Reach for the stars! (Insert your preferred motivational phrase here.)<br />
<br />
I'm sure in the next few weeks of preparation, this feeling will subside. I plan on keeping myself distracted by writing short travel story blog posts and sharing some of the pictures I've gotten onto Facebook on the blog as well. And of course, tending to a demanding class of 2 year olds :)<br />
<br />
P.S. Further posts about the World Race can be found at: http://corinnehurlbert.theworldrace.org/Corinnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09824827682737672167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4205375303791238394.post-88058018008191139462014-12-31T22:22:00.000-06:002014-12-31T22:22:06.595-06:00ReflectionJust about this time last year, I was with my sister, scarfing down 12 grapes as the clock struck midnight in a jam-packed Madrid square.<br />
<br />
And now, I sit alone at home, in front of the TV, and reflect.<br />
<br />
Don't worry. This isn't a complaining post. Due to work and traveling and general Advent business, today I've had only my second get-things-done-at-home day of the entire month and that is cause for celebration.<br />
<br />
Besides, there was no possible way I was going to top Nochevieja in the Plaza del Sol, so I didn't make any plans. It's kind of nice to give my introverted self a break from people this New Year's.<br />
<br />
I started 2014 off with abounding optimism. I was traveling and hanging out with my family, two of my favorite things. I lived in <i>Spain</i>. I had a beautiful apartment, an easy job, and unlimited sightseeing potential.<br />
<br />
My plans started to change pretty quickly, but it really wasn't until October that I lost that optimism. I think that's a new record.<br />
<br />
You may know that I don't deal well with change, or with feeling a lack of control. I started working at a day care in August, a place with a fabulous Assistant Director and friendly teachers and a class I adored. And then, seven weeks into my new job, suddenly I was being moved to a different center. I was devastated. It's taken me this long to get over that [and I'm still not 100% there, to be honest].<br />
<br />
So looking back, I'm glad for another "fresh" start. I've got some exciting traveling things to look forward to, further in the year. This new class of mine should be staying the same after this month. I have lots of good days and lots of things to be thankful for.<br />
<br />
It's not the same as it was 12 months ago, but then again, I don't <i>want</i> the same. I don't want to be in grad school right now, or starting a career at a company I could see myself committing to forever. If I had wanted that, I probably would have had it already. And that, I think, is why I keep beating myself up about being a college graduate still living at home and working an hourly wage job, temporary as that all may be. That "American Dream" is still so prevalent that I have trouble seeing my own dreams underneath it.<br />
<br />
[Okay, I'm going to complain a little bit here. Working 40 hours a week, plus 1 hour for lunch and 1 hour of driving each day, does not leave much down time for figuring out what, precisely, my own dreams are. There's not a lot of room for any kind of creative pursuits or higher-order thinking, really. Hence the no blog posts since August. How do people do this their entire adult lives?]<br />
<br />
I don't really make New Year's resolutions, because I know myself well enough to know that I won't keep them, but I want to start 2015 off with a promise that I think I've made to myself, consciously or not, for quite some time: I promise to try a little harder to do things that are rewarding. To blog. To meet up with friends. To read. To go on walks. To travel. To create.<br />
<br />
It's a New Year, y'all. Anything is possible.Corinnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09824827682737672167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4205375303791238394.post-77023383273263358802014-08-13T16:21:00.000-05:002014-08-13T16:21:42.950-05:00Zagora: Camel Rides and Camping Out<a href="http://corinnehurlbert.blogspot.com/2014/06/zagora-desert-excursion.html">Part 1: Excursion</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://corinnehurlbert.blogspot.com/2014/06/zagora-heading-out.html">Part 2: Heading Out</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://corinnehurlbert.blogspot.com/2014/07/zagora-kasbah.html">Part 3: Kasbah</a><br />
<br />
[I know I was supposed to get this up <i>before</i> I left on vacation. And it almost was, really. Only the Internet crashed before I could click upload and wouldn't come back the rest of the day.]<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Camel rides</b><br />
<br />
It's such a touristy thing to do, but because it was part of the excursion and not something I'm likely to do again, I was excited about the camel ride. It ended up being a fantastic way to see the desert landscape and we rode towards camp just before sunset, so the views were incredible! I was in front, so I had an unimpeded view of the mountains surrounding us.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI4_9Zy5eVC21SKGkFViBrkToONpBTtoCTqM07r6ANB3HD7Aq-I38smVAfHVSszPJP1fcxqB4aKV_Aw3oijxKCF7XPA-NIobqp5kZVDL0o443xskya90mY0J2nrnwgtJ5dafqMiZYaJuse/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+337.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI4_9Zy5eVC21SKGkFViBrkToONpBTtoCTqM07r6ANB3HD7Aq-I38smVAfHVSszPJP1fcxqB4aKV_Aw3oijxKCF7XPA-NIobqp5kZVDL0o443xskya90mY0J2nrnwgtJ5dafqMiZYaJuse/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+337.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Plus, whenever I was offered a photo op with camels in Marrakesh, I could happily say no.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcKeQSgm6pTwsmHoWFo3jX7KjoV-X2e-eBLvHO88WE-CpOHhSarJvdwIIm7O5VDHA9H3QNtYI_goLY2VZYmTVds6BRlfkA-TeXROYK_cuRJ2_i7BGBJUL6W7b2ayOewx_0kVhfHT6R1BSr/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+340.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcKeQSgm6pTwsmHoWFo3jX7KjoV-X2e-eBLvHO88WE-CpOHhSarJvdwIIm7O5VDHA9H3QNtYI_goLY2VZYmTVds6BRlfkA-TeXROYK_cuRJ2_i7BGBJUL6W7b2ayOewx_0kVhfHT6R1BSr/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+340.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrmJmpGSL3FmLd2V6VA3emVMfDm-DhPpDJbqjjLOmTBb9ncvtEuR5Jz39BymZXUjPlUAsPX2lZUw5pRZeN30aKeH-Ls_RpbgWk9FRgMXBqTegzh7L38F4UiT0wwwrOQ8WlbSSskG21p8re/s1600/iPhone+4+July+Dump+064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrmJmpGSL3FmLd2V6VA3emVMfDm-DhPpDJbqjjLOmTBb9ncvtEuR5Jz39BymZXUjPlUAsPX2lZUw5pRZeN30aKeH-Ls_RpbgWk9FRgMXBqTegzh7L38F4UiT0wwwrOQ8WlbSSskG21p8re/s1600/iPhone+4+July+Dump+064.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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In a lot of ways, it was similar to a trail ride with horses. The biggest difference? It <i>hurt</i>. And yes, riding a horse for hours upon end will hurt too. But this ride lasted maybe an hour, and the blankets laid over the camel's backs were not enough to lessen the discomfort. A camel's hump is not soft <i>at all</i>. Luckily the journey to the campsite wasn't nearly the 2 hours the description of the excursion said it would be, or I don't think any of us would have been able to move the next day.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHFt74qmvFI9lEX1V1z1O4ku_pr5RkLcR8qc-2ZEjljQIePFbOL9aq1qEuVyNs5UzWz3-fybE744F2tIGGt4-Act_mH1RzHjtG51L9Vh9h5uheHwZbZUkLnxce944tO6GEM3qTTzzdhntE/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+336.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHFt74qmvFI9lEX1V1z1O4ku_pr5RkLcR8qc-2ZEjljQIePFbOL9aq1qEuVyNs5UzWz3-fybE744F2tIGGt4-Act_mH1RzHjtG51L9Vh9h5uheHwZbZUkLnxce944tO6GEM3qTTzzdhntE/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+336.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Going through a bit of a village.</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnhRqk9fX3XphvXb7MYW7bMcn6riYWYO2ZJWJvUV7SkDVET0MSlOrZjzikbnvGpYcT5FvY01iFYHiVLJpKKOLUso-bLfgesoJXv0rFUaPq2UgwQzjOYyY2j3pNk_OzS8dCY1OotLE72gWw/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+346.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnhRqk9fX3XphvXb7MYW7bMcn6riYWYO2ZJWJvUV7SkDVET0MSlOrZjzikbnvGpYcT5FvY01iFYHiVLJpKKOLUso-bLfgesoJXv0rFUaPq2UgwQzjOYyY2j3pNk_OzS8dCY1OotLE72gWw/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+346.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Just enough sand to not be annoying.</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5wCk0FSpexZm_NCY2CJ-CnfT5YN5EI-TD66vvqzYig4F226uF6_kJTs1WH5_9XfEeCwSnTgSoMOIXQNXSID3hS_oDHxQZo_4PhLNCLX-AYGBwVMUefMc02ukjN3Ip3rtMg-btUuP5EPm_/s1600/iPhone+4+July+Dump+066.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5wCk0FSpexZm_NCY2CJ-CnfT5YN5EI-TD66vvqzYig4F226uF6_kJTs1WH5_9XfEeCwSnTgSoMOIXQNXSID3hS_oDHxQZo_4PhLNCLX-AYGBwVMUefMc02ukjN3Ip3rtMg-btUuP5EPm_/s1600/iPhone+4+July+Dump+066.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Selfie while riding a camel.</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">My first camel.</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6-4yy8MGi8Xr7ee-47nPYX_3qg-pK5VH53uTPQSq12owUEFWp4hSoJup-xWYVcK2jOHf7zCfvOdMupxHoJ27Erdsq2qpqCNNjvr_aFwpJkJldj6M6r12Wh97d7DD1rZRJAkXNlcGITUBJ/s1600/iPhone+4+July+Dump+070.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6-4yy8MGi8Xr7ee-47nPYX_3qg-pK5VH53uTPQSq12owUEFWp4hSoJup-xWYVcK2jOHf7zCfvOdMupxHoJ27Erdsq2qpqCNNjvr_aFwpJkJldj6M6r12Wh97d7DD1rZRJAkXNlcGITUBJ/s1600/iPhone+4+July+Dump+070.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">The sun setting behind us.</span></b></td></tr>
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Another thing - I think everyone's heard about spitting camels. But some of them like to express their orneriness in different ways. One particular camel, on the trip out and the return, complained like crazy when the guides had him sit. He bucked and made his very strange camel noises and finally they were able to get him calm. I was super glad not to be placed on that camel.<br />
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<b>Camping out</b><br />
<br />
We were the first group to arrive at our camp. We settled into our tents [big enough to sleep 4] and had some delicious mint tea while the sun set further beneath the mountains. It was pretty dark when a second group arrived, bringing - you guessed it - the other auxiliares.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGbMa8v37HUNK-FcWiCuR0BuNOk1a8o8bHiXoDhKpnJWhTQnrLZlkcEBj5kRT9UGYXPW55U4kR4iM0CeiWtyP1KFvMDCrPmZTGUeONoTCj6sVHeNLOHa0wUph8kMTEU61RwkpySuLKwZUr/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+358.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGbMa8v37HUNK-FcWiCuR0BuNOk1a8o8bHiXoDhKpnJWhTQnrLZlkcEBj5kRT9UGYXPW55U4kR4iM0CeiWtyP1KFvMDCrPmZTGUeONoTCj6sVHeNLOHa0wUph8kMTEU61RwkpySuLKwZUr/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+358.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">The tea-drinking tent.</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF0EecUJ6E80z57sshNdKbMY1gd2BCpY2UUf7M8KXfaZvfxIkiOrxqbZh6zvBOpxRx03ddZEEIQRnzt1750uRcrgQA4xoyWAijO3OGJPRy-K9ZiPVWhT2wRIjyfu_tjC7OXFpJHZhfwjM5/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+366.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF0EecUJ6E80z57sshNdKbMY1gd2BCpY2UUf7M8KXfaZvfxIkiOrxqbZh6zvBOpxRx03ddZEEIQRnzt1750uRcrgQA4xoyWAijO3OGJPRy-K9ZiPVWhT2wRIjyfu_tjC7OXFpJHZhfwjM5/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+366.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Inside my tent.</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsKydTrd2icw6ZmeOuSqMCGLndJr4MJ3dVKU8UW64qp5_647uprurmw5mpphHbuQk-3aFrTHyy_Y2wDZ0R4zxcseBzeo2Yk_CDhNM3eN8Ib-2sTcoSSKAkjChEmqDb2Kng-UF9AB6fK0Iq/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+371.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsKydTrd2icw6ZmeOuSqMCGLndJr4MJ3dVKU8UW64qp5_647uprurmw5mpphHbuQk-3aFrTHyy_Y2wDZ0R4zxcseBzeo2Yk_CDhNM3eN8Ib-2sTcoSSKAkjChEmqDb2Kng-UF9AB6fK0Iq/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+371.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Fancy camping - we had plenty of electricity.</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Mz7jGoZ0vrvbg1UfduEaIfNf3Kal11gMlrlMACeydEOFJk7it0IgisFZ8YDo5E88WqKb5QwCtCOXjiXS5r_IfiNnHjt0q-Gb7z8xxIHJ3xlaUylsRSou1ufjJmNfJntpr9IMxSEAr8h9/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+377.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Mz7jGoZ0vrvbg1UfduEaIfNf3Kal11gMlrlMACeydEOFJk7it0IgisFZ8YDo5E88WqKb5QwCtCOXjiXS5r_IfiNnHjt0q-Gb7z8xxIHJ3xlaUylsRSou1ufjJmNfJntpr9IMxSEAr8h9/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+377.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">And the bathroom tent.</span></b></td></tr>
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After <i>they</i> got settled and had their tea, the guides called us to the big tent for dinner. It was <i>delicious</i>. We had the very traditional <i>tangine</i>, which is meat, potatoes and vegetables all cooked in this triangle shaped pot...thing. There was fruit for dessert [none that I like, sadly] and then we headed back outside to sit around the campfire. The guides had some drums [and maybe some other instruments as well, I can't remember] and started singing. It really felt magical to lie back, looking at the stars and hearing this beautiful music.<br />
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After a while, people started dispersing. We had a sunrise wake-up call, so I imagine the guides all went to bed before we did. I started talking to a couple of the Danish girls, tried to take some pictures of the stars, and then headed to bed myself.<br />
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We did indeed get woken up far too early the next morning. After a very uncomfortable night on a lumpy mattress, combined with the camel ride, I really did not want to move. But thank goodness I got out of the tent in time to see the sunrise which again - stunning. Absolutely stunning.<br />
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We were served breakfast - more tea [or coffee], delicious bread, and some interesting spreads. They had a jelly-ish one and a honey-ish one. I'll have to look them up one day to figure out what I was actually eating! Then we packed up our gear and met our moaning camels for the journey back.<br />
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[I got super lucky on the return trip as well. Myself and my new Danish friends were moved to a bigger van because a smaller group needed our previous one for their extended excursion. So two new fellows joined our group - both of them staying at the same hostel as I would be. Otherwise I'm not sure I would have been able to find it.]</div>
Corinnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09824827682737672167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4205375303791238394.post-22791007589284550112014-07-30T14:31:00.002-05:002014-07-30T14:32:44.868-05:00Zagora: Kasbah<b>At the sights</b><br />
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<a href="http://corinnehurlbert.blogspot.com/2014/06/zagora-desert-excursion.html">Part 1: Desert Excursion</a><br />
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<a href="http://corinnehurlbert.blogspot.com/2014/06/zagora-heading-out.html">Part 2: Heading Out</a><br />
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[Hooray, I'm getting things done today! And I'm determined to get my last Morocco post finished before I leave for a family reunion on Friday. You'll be hearing about camels soon!]<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0MhOw0pQngUwEsGT6p_w92PWvFuGSoWUYZW-fE0iq5-G5wH0uTol3QVPfTMlAdQIbOPLIjXtC0LYUgm2DjCdZW83Na-OOxwkwIl9r5R6OGjc1uBtWJYGA5y5IK-ZqImmRfFhMk7ht_7FD/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+306.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0MhOw0pQngUwEsGT6p_w92PWvFuGSoWUYZW-fE0iq5-G5wH0uTol3QVPfTMlAdQIbOPLIjXtC0LYUgm2DjCdZW83Na-OOxwkwIl9r5R6OGjc1uBtWJYGA5y5IK-ZqImmRfFhMk7ht_7FD/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+306.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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The main reason I picked this excursion was to visit the Kasbah Ait Ben Haddou, one of Morocco's many must-sees. [Of course, I would have loved to go on a longer one that stopped more places, but I just didn't have time.]<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzWrVhBjCtG_0IrzYpMoB7M7uA2jXRTjSSkLaRGBZTuzIxsZ9iojkrSPw8U9ZoUxzGQSoFKolZ8_CjgHyuGTsMQc2Ybq9m4CuLL9E-B7fg5AI-IjifMfwnfYoRiN33ifkHT4KXVRCXb5n1/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+314.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzWrVhBjCtG_0IrzYpMoB7M7uA2jXRTjSSkLaRGBZTuzIxsZ9iojkrSPw8U9ZoUxzGQSoFKolZ8_CjgHyuGTsMQc2Ybq9m4CuLL9E-B7fg5AI-IjifMfwnfYoRiN33ifkHT4KXVRCXb5n1/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+314.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a>Like the Chellah in Rabat, this was one of my favorite spots, and again, one that I didn't get enough time to fully enjoy. After dropping off the poor sick Danish kid in our group at the restaurant where we'd be eating lunch, we met our guide and walked over to the river. The "new city" is on one side and the Kasbah is on the other.<br />
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First, he pointed out the gates that were made for some movie or other. All of the other artificial movie constructions have been removed, but these are still there. We walked across a makeshift bridge over the river, where kids begging for money tried to help us cross, and then saw the open area where the arena in Gladiator was filmed.<br />
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Movie trivia...not the most auspicious start to a visit to an ancient historical fortress-city.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisvctPvVu3SuI9s03B6K6eBKtVwtRCLJlxCnbV0gj_P92yrBjnZDwMHTpcCL0fjcuabQQqcTEzw4TvNh8-sHRnrRI6ozg58xbnfG8OCmvfzIYqdt6QnEfRXAvZPHKkDZ0OHA5-6BAP5yeY/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+311.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisvctPvVu3SuI9s03B6K6eBKtVwtRCLJlxCnbV0gj_P92yrBjnZDwMHTpcCL0fjcuabQQqcTEzw4TvNh8-sHRnrRI6ozg58xbnfG8OCmvfzIYqdt6QnEfRXAvZPHKkDZ0OHA5-6BAP5yeY/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+311.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a>We passed a man making bricks - they're working on moving families back into the city now that the film studios don't have free reign - and entered the city. <i>Finally</i> we got some history. The walled city was built to protect one of the tribes against the others. There were four main tribal groups, often warring over water. Eventually, they started working towards peace.<br />
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The word <i>kasbah</i> really refers to the buildings with 4 towers that form the front lines of the city, the area which needed the most defense. [Kind of similar to the alcazars and palaces often found up against the city walls in medieval Spanish cities.] There were 4 towers for 4 wives, each of whom would have come from a different tribe. Marriage, everyone's favorite way of signing treaties.<br />
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We passed by the Mosque and some smaller houses, stopping to sit a minute in the shade. [The Danes were shocked to hear that in the summer, temperatures in the desert could reach 50 C - or about 130 farenheit.] The thatched roofs on these houses used to be replaced about every 4-5 years, but now they have a sheet of tin covering them, so they last closer to 12 years.<br />
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I was also surprised to learn that there was a Jewish Quarter in the city. Its inhabitants left a long time ago, but according to our guide, they still return maybe once a year for their holy days [I think ones that have to do with the dead, so they visit their old cemetery near the city].<br />
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We watched a fascinating demonstration by a man who paints postcards using saffron and a gas tank. The "paint" is made of saffron tea and doesn't appear on the paper until it's been exposed to some heat [hence the gas]. I'm still kicking myself for not buying one.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWuSlTX73UdJ1-GNTfhAQX8m0jDSKuUoiag4jgQXaQUOH-5pIUtc-io4g16w6MRjx-cSTMv2_hDoOP_A34KdvrW2ZmMDu40sNcfGTosngrW_lQMpEAR_lRa5ObbYvHLz6zs6sCSuK7UtQB/s1600/saffron+tea+art.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWuSlTX73UdJ1-GNTfhAQX8m0jDSKuUoiag4jgQXaQUOH-5pIUtc-io4g16w6MRjx-cSTMv2_hDoOP_A34KdvrW2ZmMDu40sNcfGTosngrW_lQMpEAR_lRa5ObbYvHLz6zs6sCSuK7UtQB/s1600/saffron+tea+art.jpg" height="179" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(Found via Google image search)</td></tr>
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At another shop, we saw the most interesting lock and key I have ever seen, made entirely out of wood. The key, which looks more like a comb than anything else, fits sideways inside the door handle to open it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Yg0qbgqW61K1qCOQQ0xCIuqwSbpEPTjKFkJTFyD6gePYdlkD6wNUxiYDUFpL51Z3q-bdFyPFFG2jg7TUT7aaiy4-7yPp3U7hN_4149fGKXS6ORpHJwP0VZUn5RvLMlxKKT3caTFVs70k/s1600/ancient-handmade-wooden-gate-lock-ait-benhaddou-kasbah-southern-morocco-ralph-a-ledergerber.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Yg0qbgqW61K1qCOQQ0xCIuqwSbpEPTjKFkJTFyD6gePYdlkD6wNUxiYDUFpL51Z3q-bdFyPFFG2jg7TUT7aaiy4-7yPp3U7hN_4149fGKXS6ORpHJwP0VZUn5RvLMlxKKT3caTFVs70k/s1600/ancient-handmade-wooden-gate-lock-ait-benhaddou-kasbah-southern-morocco-ralph-a-ledergerber.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(Not my picture. Also thanks to a Google image search.)</td></tr>
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And of course, there was more movie trivia. They were especially excited about Katie Holmes' most recent movie that wrapped just a little while ago and the parts of Game of Thrones that were filmed there, last year I think. Even though I'm a big movie person, the history nerd in me was disappointed to not hear as many stories about the history of this incredible city.<br />
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We then walked back to have a delicious and, by Moroccan standards, expensive lunch. [It cost less than 10 euros. I was a happy camper.] The rest of the afternoon was spent driving, driving, driving through the mountains until we reached the town of Zagora, where we met our camels...</div>
Corinnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09824827682737672167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4205375303791238394.post-17399207110947635722014-07-25T12:53:00.000-05:002014-07-25T12:53:35.819-05:00An Apology and An UpdateI'm sorry it's been so long since I got a travel post up. I want to be the kind of person who blogs regularly [among a host of other things], but I'm just not. Somehow, the "summer" times of my life, whether they happen during the summer or not, devolve into marathon TV-watching sessions, with a bit of reading and family socializing thrown in on the side.<br />
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So today I told myself I'm not allowed to turn the TV on and am finally getting at least <i>something </i>written, even if it doesn't turn out to be anything.<br />
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And luckily for me, my TV-less day has gotten full pretty quickly [because let's face it, otherwise I would be on the Internet all day which is <strike>probably</strike> definitely even less healthy than TV]. I cooked myself <i>avena </i>[oatmeal] for breakfast this morning, although it turned out disastrously. Clearly that recipe needs to be tweaked now that I'm back in the land of cups and tablespoons. I'm making dinner for my family as well, which could take me a good hour. Even though this is the house I grew up in, I never know where to find anything in this kitchen.<br />
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Anyways...there's really no point to this post, I just wanted to say that...I'm working on it. I've promised to finish my posts about Morocco, and now I have dozens of stories to tell about Bulgaria and Romania and Istanbul and London and Edinburgh on top of those. And all the places in Spain that I posted pictures of but never really talked about besides that.<br />
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Ugh.<br />
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I'm going to try really hard to not be lazy about all those. So I need to ask for a little patience, as I organize my scattered thoughts and finish uploading the thousands [literally thousands] of pictures that are still on my computer. It was a fantastic experience, all this traveling, and I'm really mad at myself for not sharing all of it sooner.Corinnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09824827682737672167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4205375303791238394.post-32783275129193448722014-06-03T09:53:00.000-05:002014-06-03T09:53:05.450-05:00Zagora: Heading Out<a href="http://corinnehurlbert.blogspot.com/2014/06/zagora-desert-excursion.html">Part 1</a><br />
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I sat in the front of the van, in between the driver and the daughter of the Danish mother-daughter duo. [Who, I'd like to add, also happened to have a pen pal from Texas. How does that happen?]<br />
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We had some amazing views through the front windshield, but that wasn't my favorite part. Right before we left the city, when driver stopped to get gas, he also bought two bags of freshly baked rolls. I figured they might be a snack for him for later, maybe to share with someone who lived at one of our destinations.<br />
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But no.<br />
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Instead, there were a few points along the road where he would slow down, honk his horn, and then toss the bread out the window to the waiting groups of stray dogs gathered by the side of the road. I really wish I had gotten a picture of this.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEindMSpu9uZl-_RotfNUSNWRW-26wpcdYZ6TRDLZVs7zDB3dY-BLv9vIxn8bLCQY3_e-V6bdj-phgnj5nDM97UI2IGyuDoXyifIGE9poURDjMYa1d8SfFFwjdwh8pDGwd7ubnvolqr71xTw/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+296.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEindMSpu9uZl-_RotfNUSNWRW-26wpcdYZ6TRDLZVs7zDB3dY-BLv9vIxn8bLCQY3_e-V6bdj-phgnj5nDM97UI2IGyuDoXyifIGE9poURDjMYa1d8SfFFwjdwh8pDGwd7ubnvolqr71xTw/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+296.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>One of the photos I <i>did</i> take.</b></span></td></tr>
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We had about a 7 hour drive in total, but didn't cover a whole lot of ground for two reasons. 1) Meadering mountain roads and 2) fifty bazillion stops.<br />
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The landscape is breathtakingly beautiful, of course. But oh, how much I hate driving in the mountains. Another reason I was very glad to be sitting in the front.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIVcAjHEwvOdKjvj2PG8v-TFxLOfgIboKgrIreD6EmCj91yzafnV6MOhuUsnbjVqI0WbexWQl3xGFxBgdKCIsM8MuMgul_vMCukYcE5JwL04KxFGeVGMGnwiRwedeAdnt_HzMWCxCtYC8u/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+298.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIVcAjHEwvOdKjvj2PG8v-TFxLOfgIboKgrIreD6EmCj91yzafnV6MOhuUsnbjVqI0WbexWQl3xGFxBgdKCIsM8MuMgul_vMCukYcE5JwL04KxFGeVGMGnwiRwedeAdnt_HzMWCxCtYC8u/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+298.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Green everywhere.</span></b></td></tr>
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Most of the stops were about 5 minutes to take pictures [although we did have a few unplanned stops after one of the kids got carsick, poor thing]. Surprisingly, considering the number of tourist groups who must pass along this road, there were only 1 or 2 places where people were also selling tourist stuff. The whole mountainous area reminded me a lot of Peru, but there were typically a lot more vendors along the roads there.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAFZZHiXIMlsxoCenv8WO8Qx7QqA3HPOnyBZ0zV3OJxMKy6D7DV1O53iSaeLpeB2diTVfSsDKzFlVc4WGRzUUatl49unCD7xt9UA7aKwXH2a0MVtE-J1pi9O72ozCIBWoniLrJklFIFEiM/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+302.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAFZZHiXIMlsxoCenv8WO8Qx7QqA3HPOnyBZ0zV3OJxMKy6D7DV1O53iSaeLpeB2diTVfSsDKzFlVc4WGRzUUatl49unCD7xt9UA7aKwXH2a0MVtE-J1pi9O72ozCIBWoniLrJklFIFEiM/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+302.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Village in the distance.</b></span></td></tr>
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We also had two cafe stops that were about 20 minutes long. The driver disappeared for some tea or something, and we generally took the time to use the restrooms, buy snacks, and of course, take some more pictures. Unfortunately, the drivers aren't allowed to serve as "tour guides" or narrate the journey, but I was perfectly content to just stare out the window.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ6Sdsj0tEckssqzPOzouGo8UI4Q_wum42ppCNh5NitL-PsDk1Vg4X5nCMw_JqIWFx6rBA4k3FqDPG4jyQQP_rmhizX7soi_VKEfrp_2guMup6fAZiHqHBIWAx0otxvkw7VSzwDnxzj4Fu/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+304.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ6Sdsj0tEckssqzPOzouGo8UI4Q_wum42ppCNh5NitL-PsDk1Vg4X5nCMw_JqIWFx6rBA4k3FqDPG4jyQQP_rmhizX7soi_VKEfrp_2guMup6fAZiHqHBIWAx0otxvkw7VSzwDnxzj4Fu/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+304.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Now it looks like we're in the desert.</span></b></td></tr>
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It was hilarious to me as a Texan that the other passengers were constantly asking how much longer - to lunch, to the next stop, etc. [I understood when they wanted to know for the carsick kid's sake, but they did it again on the way back too.] When I take 7 hour drives at home, we usually stop once to eat and then we're good the rest of the way. Europeans are spoiled that way, I guess.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEyR0uogrer91pLB00prlpSfDP5JNGv3dsu2KEIRh6HUScmjXNI1Ij6w7E0aOEUXYjU3w9-yUSAOnmcGOQbxQK_UtyAtJpX6ZAyeCEEMBtUNvxYndo4LCWf4v05HjzTwqpglHLLrLKlXgm/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+323.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEyR0uogrer91pLB00prlpSfDP5JNGv3dsu2KEIRh6HUScmjXNI1Ij6w7E0aOEUXYjU3w9-yUSAOnmcGOQbxQK_UtyAtJpX6ZAyeCEEMBtUNvxYndo4LCWf4v05HjzTwqpglHLLrLKlXgm/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+323.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">The Danes asked me how this compared to the Grand Canyon.</span></b></td></tr>
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We had a two hour long stop for our sightseeing and lunch [the next post]. We were directed to one of the obviously touristy restaurants that offered full meals at the outrageous price of 100 dirhams...or less than 10 euros. I am totally okay with that kind of tourist price hike.<br />
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We made it to the city of Zagora at about 6 in the evening. The driver told us this was our last chance to buy water before going into the desert. We had all come well-provisioned, so we drove straight through the city to the meeting point where our camels awaited us.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfRXsNpLuMZTl3KR5Vd3o9FxwW2isij6pl5p_EaDK5fXEmwX8Skchj1eHOcKxjvPtp_QGs-cS3oKalk2ScEsvehZ3YFIyMc6YP2o3hbp34TfGeN5hHoYbx1E5sFU3Gr_WGt882mUr-pq7g/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+334.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfRXsNpLuMZTl3KR5Vd3o9FxwW2isij6pl5p_EaDK5fXEmwX8Skchj1eHOcKxjvPtp_QGs-cS3oKalk2ScEsvehZ3YFIyMc6YP2o3hbp34TfGeN5hHoYbx1E5sFU3Gr_WGt882mUr-pq7g/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+334.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>There will be a post all about the camels [soon, I swear].</b></span></td></tr>
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Corinnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09824827682737672167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4205375303791238394.post-44308468222111427692014-06-01T07:39:00.000-05:002014-06-01T07:39:43.231-05:00Zagora Desert ExcursionI've been going back and forth on whether to include all of this excursion in one post or split it up. But seeing as that indecision has only encouraged further procrastination - and given that's it's already a month after my trip, further procrastination is not really desirable - I've decided that it will be easier for me to get a little bit written at a time. [And probably easier for you to read because as one post, it would be entirely too long.]<br />
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So! Here's a little bit about the beginning of the 2 day excursion I took from Marrakesh, Morocco.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4_GqjECIOaK71QAHzdGrle45kvU5OjY-qirMTn-z0rQd2JYr-CvGeYAA0Yks4WjvJIV8tyRm4S1HN5BfKJAmhhfZTkLHyMJB-039QVRSOMp1F-kh_d8DRBxYyT4akUr5PJY26PL3nPHVr/s1600/IMG_0993.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4_GqjECIOaK71QAHzdGrle45kvU5OjY-qirMTn-z0rQd2JYr-CvGeYAA0Yks4WjvJIV8tyRm4S1HN5BfKJAmhhfZTkLHyMJB-039QVRSOMp1F-kh_d8DRBxYyT4akUr5PJY26PL3nPHVr/s1600/IMG_0993.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Me enjoying the wonderfully warm and sunny weather. April is the perfect time to visit Morocco.</span></b></td></tr>
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I booked this excursion online before I left through <a href="http://gomoco.net/marrakech-desert-trips-2-day.html">gomoco.net</a> because I am super paranoid about having things planned out. [Well, at least partially. I <i>did</i> wait until the day before leaving Soria to book it, but whatever.] There were some conflicting reviews online about the company, but overall, I'm really happy with how it turned out.<br />
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I want to say a little bit about the booking, in case anyone wants to visit Morocco :) I picked this website because it was almost the only one that offered an inexpensive shared group tour. As in, a tour group that accepted people traveling on their own. Lots of companies advertise private tours, which are probably great for families, but way out of my living-on-a-monthly-stipend budget.<br />
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My tour cost around 50 euros, which paid for transportation, dinner and breakfast at the camp, and sleeping in the tents. There was a 20% deposit for booking online, after which the booking company directed you to pay when you were picked up the morning of the trip.<br />
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But I had to argue with the train station pick up driver, and his boss on the phone, because he expected me to pay then. Luckily, my online research had forewarned me that this could happen, so I was prepared to argue. It may not have been much money, but I was definitely <i>not</i> handing over anything until I was actually leaving on the trip.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyP3aY1ZVRhQusAh_YGoviOtuSPqeQDb3D7bQEBft0NP0k9a0B_CH_wRyFHc7lb2XmA3lR8wKbPKxweHOPq6RVwGvk5iSDh1oYeXLW9ZOcQs4T3fQ5CwkhIEDu5wwLNUV_ouXyvj33kHIS/s1600/IMG_0995.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyP3aY1ZVRhQusAh_YGoviOtuSPqeQDb3D7bQEBft0NP0k9a0B_CH_wRyFHc7lb2XmA3lR8wKbPKxweHOPq6RVwGvk5iSDh1oYeXLW9ZOcQs4T3fQ5CwkhIEDu5wwLNUV_ouXyvj33kHIS/s1600/IMG_0995.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">A beautiful map of the area. Points of interest on the tour: Kasbah Aï</span></b><b><span style="font-size: small;">t Ben Haddou, Zagora, and Ouarzazate.</span></b></td></tr>
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As it turns out, it would have been super easy to book the trip from one of the hostels I stayed in, but I ended up spending about the same amount of money AND got a free ride from the train station to my hostel, which after my interesting train trip made it 100% worth it.<br />
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Speaking of hostels...that first night I stayed in an interesting little hostel - it was insanely cheap and they served mint tea at check-in and made us a wonderful free dinner. But there were several reasons it was so cheap, namely: I had a top bunk and I felt like I was going to pull the whole bed down on top of me every time I climbed up the ladder. Seriously.<br />
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Far too early the next morning, I precariously got out of bed, fought for a free bathroom [again, I'm not even exaggerating <i>that </i>much], stuffed all my things into my backpack, and headed back to the drop off/pick up point.<br />
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And waited.<br />
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And waited.<br />
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And waited. I asked just about every tourist van I saw if they were from the tour company I had booked with, but most of them were doing airport transport. Finally, there was a guy who at least knew of the company. He spoke enough English to indicate that they weren't there yet but he would tell me when they were.<br />
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At this point, I was mad that I had skipped the hostel's homemade breakfast and terrified that the van had left without me. It was super reassuring to know that I had only paid 15 euros so far, which wasn't a terrible price for the train station pickup if I ended up having to pay for a different excursion.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRPS0UgjpyrEEGWHaNQs4WD7Sls8ZFeYCTYymQ_Ah440uOpT3QcxGvalEJ7tHaWIg1LZx6yuyQy-X-PwgMl1w1-d5tXTwNiQmG-_5yfoPuWcaRlWQaqgTulREu6hgu1fiR4XgQT1COZwVn/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+301.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRPS0UgjpyrEEGWHaNQs4WD7Sls8ZFeYCTYymQ_Ah440uOpT3QcxGvalEJ7tHaWIg1LZx6yuyQy-X-PwgMl1w1-d5tXTwNiQmG-_5yfoPuWcaRlWQaqgTulREu6hgu1fiR4XgQT1COZwVn/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+301.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">The nice, comfy tourist van. They're supposed to be air conditioned, but I couldn't tell if this one was or not.</span></b></td></tr>
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But then, after 45 agonizing minutes, a caravan of vehicles, as well as a mass of people from the nearby hostels and hotels, appeared at exactly the same time. [Apparently, they had all gotten the memo about the <i>actual</i> time the tour started.]<br />
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I was directed to a guy who seemed to be organizing the chaotic groups and paid the rest of my fee, then followed him as he went looking for an open seat.<br />
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Two interesting things happened in this chaos. First, I heard someone call out my name, which threw me for a moment because I do not have the most common name in the world AND it was pronounced correctly. Then I saw a fellow auxiliar who <i>happened </i>to have been sitting next to me on the flight over. In what has to be one of the biggest coincidences of all time, he and his group of friends <i>happened </i>to have almost the exact same itinerary as me, excursion and all.<br />
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And second, when they finally found a van with open seats, I ended up being the only American with a bunch of people from Denmark. And it wasn't that there was a big group of them traveling together - there was a school group with 12 people, leaving 3 open seats in the van. So I took one of them, and then the other two were taken by a mother and daughter <i>also</i> from Denmark.<br />
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Two separate groups of Danish people who had never met before just happened to be on the same excursion and end up in the same car.<br />
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From a country with a smaller population than the entire city of Dallas.<br />
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The odds must be astronomical.<br />
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We settled into our seats, stopped to get some gas, and then the adventure really began.Corinnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09824827682737672167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4205375303791238394.post-31405830225299693092014-05-12T16:09:00.000-05:002014-05-12T16:09:58.949-05:00RabatMy whole trip to Morocco could be described as a whirlwind adventure, but the 17 hours I spent in the capital, Rabat, really epitomize the word.<br />
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My 7:35 flight out arrived about 8:30 at night, thanks to the time difference between Morocco and Spain. I shared a taxi with a kid from...somewhere in the U.S. who was also staying in the <i>medina</i>, the old part of town. After struggling to communicate our hotels' addresses to the taxi driver, who spoke no English, he rolled down the windows to ask passersby for directions. Very confidence inspiring.<br />
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We finally parked and were led through the winding streets [too narrow for cars] until we reached my hotel. I have no idea how people who rent cars or take public transportation manage to find anything in Morocco, because they are worse than Spain about street signs. I said goodbye to the other American - I'm not sure if he ever found the place he was supposed to stay - and walked into my magical [expensive] hotel. There don't seem to be many hostels in Rabat, at least not downtown, so I sadly parted with 45 euros. But, after being on the road 3 days already, it was nice to relax in a fancy, private room.<br />
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In the morning, I was treated to my first Moroccan food. And what a treat it was! I knew about the mint tea, of course, but the breakfast we had? AMAZING. You can't go wrong with yummy flatbread and jams. I even more or less liked the orange juice. But the best part was something called <i>m'semmen</i>, basically fried bready deliciousness. I have already looked up recipes because it was some of the best bread I have had in my entire life.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQZMiDRLTsuAZegf2lpkiJOl6hx5RprqFLk-fJvt9tceoWY8NEMCn2QB42vzTlRIeS2dtoeILQ0WvGc2Od4A_QBnHHSTzRRMdH1mn2uOEsRpSzgu8AvdwTOqkY9tRahvEKlgR4tjjdR1pz/s1600/maroq+breakfast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQZMiDRLTsuAZegf2lpkiJOl6hx5RprqFLk-fJvt9tceoWY8NEMCn2QB42vzTlRIeS2dtoeILQ0WvGc2Od4A_QBnHHSTzRRMdH1mn2uOEsRpSzgu8AvdwTOqkY9tRahvEKlgR4tjjdR1pz/s1600/maroq+breakfast.jpg" height="225" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">I don't have my own picture of breakfast because I was too busy eating. But it was this, minus the egg.</span></b></td></tr>
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Then I had 3 hours to see the sights before I was supposed to be out of my hotel room and heading to the train station to buy a ticket to Marrakech.<br />
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First up was the Kasbah de Oudanyes, less than 5 minutes away. This was kind of a city within the city located right on the Atlantic coast. It started out as a fortified city, so between all the quaint houses and winding streets, there are also some cannons and really high walls. I first walked into the gardens, ignoring the guy offering a tour and telling me I was going in at the exit. It's apparently pretty common for these "tour guides" to gather at sites and tell people there's a fee or they have to take a tour.<br />
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I wandered through the small garden and then tagged along behind an actual tour group until they came to a cafe with a great panoramic view of the Atlantic. I snuck a few pictures in and then left, knowing that I was pressed for time. I ended up back where I'd come in, so I walked up to the other entrance. There's a museum there located in the old palace [or is it a mosque?], but again, I just didn't have time. I'd read on the map that I could see part of the old fortress, so I went looking for that.<br />
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I ended up retracing my steps several times, as the streets wound back into each other or simply dead-ended, but never found that darn fortress. So I walked back out of the city and went to look at some ruins just outside the walls. And <i>then</i> I found the fortress, jutting out from the walls - now over the beach, but a long time ago over the water. Satisfied, I took my pictures and said goodbye.<br />
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After a short walk along the coast, I made it to the Hassan Tower and Royal Masoleum complex. This tower was designed by the same architect as the Giralta Tower at the Sevilla Cathedral. There are a lot of obvious similarities in the two, except that the Hassan Tower was never finished. [I think this had something to do with the king dying in the middle of construction.]<br />
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There is a huge courtyard between the two monuments that's filled with cut-off columns. I'm not sure if this is on purpose or all that's left. There were several royal guards around the masoleum, but tourists are allowed inside. It was an impressive room, the walls decorated with typical geometric designs. The coolest part was a man [maybe a religious leader, I don't know] who was singing inside. He had a microphone so you could hear his wailing voice echoing through the whole courtyard.<br />
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I probably should have taken a taxi to the next spot, in the interest of time, but I started walking and just kept going. I passed by some kind of protest happening in the middle of the neighborhood and then headed down Franklin Roosevelt Avenue. Apparently this is close to where the U.S. Embassy is, because there was also an Abraham Lincoln Square.<br />
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And then, after passing out of the medina, I saw the walls of the Chellah.<br />
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This site has to be my favorite out of all the places I visited on my trip, and sadly it's the one where I spent the least amount of time. It began as a Roman city, complete with the forum and baths. Later it was turned into a necropolis, and now it's a park. [There was a 10 dirham entrance fee, but consdering that that's less than 1 euro, it was well worth it.]<br />
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I may have mentioned before: I am a big ruins girl. If you give me ruins [or castles, those are great too], I am a happy camper.<br />
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The Chellah has <i>all</i> the ruins.<br />
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So I walked in the main gate and was immediately surrounded by lovely plants. Pressing on, I first passed the artisans village [I'm guessing these were Roman artisans because I think the Muslims just used this site as a cemetery].<br />
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Then I came to the Mosque. The tower here is the most preserved part of the complex, and like church towers in Spain, is home to a stork's nest.<br />
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There's a royal tomb adjacent to the main room of the mosque, then you enter gardens again. All the flowers were in full bloom and it smelled delightful.<br />
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In the fields across from the Chellah, there were even more storks.<br />
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The next section has the Roman baths, which look remarkably good from the outside. Then there are some less distinct ruins of a temple and the forum.<br />
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It was really hard to leave, so much that I delayed and delayed until it was noon. And then I tried to find a taxi. You wouldn't think this would be so hard right next to a touristy site, but it really was. I think I walked for about 10 minutes [passing the Royal Palace, which was nice] before finally I managed to catch a driver's attention. He dropped me off outside the Kasbah and of course I managed to get lost getting back to my hotel, even with the convenient map the owner had given me.<br />
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I decided to walk to the train station, using the hotel's wifi to look up directions on my phone because clearly I am an expert at the getting lost thing. It was kind of a pain to weave my way through an open air market [similar to the touristy ones in Mexico] while carrying a stuffed backpack on my shoulders, but it was well worth it.<br />
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I bought my train ticket, using the convenient English-language button on the automatic ticket machine, and hurried to the food court for lunch. Using my basically non-existent knowledge of French [speaking Spanish does not help as much as I'd thought], I ordered one of the most delicious chicken sandwiches I have ever eaten, especially for train station fast food, ate it as quickly as possible, and then realized my train had been delayed 30 minutes.<br />
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But considering how <i>wonderfully</i> warm it was, I didn't mind sitting under a tree for a while, people watching. The train ride itself is a whole 'nother story, but in the interest of not making this post <i>impossibly </i>long, I'll be telling it later.<br />
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Corinnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09824827682737672167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4205375303791238394.post-52759200804738715212014-05-07T14:29:00.001-05:002014-05-07T14:29:10.547-05:00Reina SofiaBecause I had time to kill before my evening flight out of Madrid, and because I was by myself and can do crazy things like this, I spent an entire Monday wandering through the whole of the Reina Sofia art museum.<br />
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Literally, the whole thing.<br />
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It took 5 and a half hours.<br />
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And I was about to fall over from two sore feet and a very hungry stomach by the time I left, but it was so worth it.<br />
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Here are the highlights:<br />
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The funky sculpture in the courtyard. This apparently is not the main entrance, but it's where I ended up [I wasn't lost, I swear!] and conveniently, because I needed to stash my backpack, where the lockers are located.<br />
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The Reina Sofia is probably most famous for being the home of Picasso's <i>Guernica</i>, the stunningly large painting that was his reaction to the Civil War bombing of the city. Seeing it in person made my mind jump to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/user/SimonovaTV">Kseniya Simonova's sand art</a>, which reminded me just how easily you could apply this same reaction to the events in Ukraine in the past few months.<br />
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I was excited to run into Alexander Calder mobiles [not literally, but for some of them it was a close call] throughout the museum. I don't even remember where I first heard of him, but I really enjoy his work.<br />
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There were a billion and one special exhibits throughout the museum, but only two cool enough for me to pick up pamphlets after walking through them.<br />
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First up was <i>El cosmos y la calle</i> [The Cosmos and the Street], a collection by the painter Wols. He was born in Germany with the name Otto Wolfgang Schulze, but ran off to France due to his dislike of the Nazis and changed his name. He actually started out as a photographer before turning to painting. The piece that popped out at me the most was <i>It's All Over the City</i>. Most of his artwork is actually untitled, and the ones that are were named by his wife.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXGIx6ywqVckGnLWBMK-t6d2NqePYcHUyqDzcmnJUnzncE6Py_zRLjVt_pI0wLTaQ9fIz0HspACy9_3eLzO59ppSgPDFOap3GLrlcLiqu4pDHGrKmAsyz5YnBPo70UrP8Bh_BcTwYCoUb6/s1600/599px-Wols,_Alfred_Otto_Wolfgang_Schulze,_1947,_It's_All_Over_The_City.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXGIx6ywqVckGnLWBMK-t6d2NqePYcHUyqDzcmnJUnzncE6Py_zRLjVt_pI0wLTaQ9fIz0HspACy9_3eLzO59ppSgPDFOap3GLrlcLiqu4pDHGrKmAsyz5YnBPo70UrP8Bh_BcTwYCoUb6/s1600/599px-Wols,_Alfred_Otto_Wolfgang_Schulze,_1947,_It's_All_Over_The_City.jpg" height="320" width="319" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">The title card at the museum read <i>It's All Over and the City</i> which I loved. Come to find out that's not the real title.</span></b></td></tr>
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The other painting that really stuck with me was <i>Obedient Faces</i>, part of the Ghosts, Brides and Other Companions exhibit of works by Elly Strik. I absolutely loved this entire exhibit. One of her inspirations is Francisco de Goya, which translates really well for her first show in Spain. She's apparently not as famous, so there's not a great picture of the painting online, but I did manage to screenshot this from the <a href="http://www.museoreinasofia.es/en/prensa/nota-de-prensa/elly-strik-ghosts-brides-and-other-companions#listado-recursos-images">exhibit's web page</a>.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">My favorite is the one on the right.</span></b></td></tr>
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The meat statue. Yeah. It seems to have been part of a parade in Kansas or somewhere and then ended up on the terrace at the museum.<br />
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Then there were some truly weird modern art exhibits/statement pieces. And this comes from someone who loves abstract art. There were film clips playing all over the place too, some of them showing a certain artistic type of film-making, which was really cool, and some...just because? [They were mostly foreign or documentaries. The only one I recognized was Rear Window, and that's mostly thanks to Castle.]<br />
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The Reina Sofia is obviously not the most famous museum in Spain, or even Madrid, but I really enjoyed it. I got really lucky in the fantastic exhibits that they have going right now. And it was the perfect break in sightseeing. Next stop: Morocco!Corinnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09824827682737672167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4205375303791238394.post-23478298679367242352014-05-04T11:17:00.000-05:002014-05-04T11:17:13.944-05:00Toledo Day 2For some reason, I remember my second day in Toledo as being not as exciting as the first. I did manage to walk through the entire city the first day. If I had to guess, though, I'd say I got worn out trying to make my way through the labyrinth of a museum housed in the Alcazar.<br />
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But I'm getting ahead of myself. The first thing I did Sunday morning was head to the Cathedral for a <i>mozarabe </i>mass. I literally had no idea what this entailed, but I figured it was the only time in my life I'd have a chance to find out. It's a distinctly Spanish style mass that was prominent in regions under Moorish rule but has been mostly replaced by the more typical Roman mass. To me, it didn't seem that different - I actually liked it better because they had booklets so you could follow along. How I miss my detailed Presbyterian bulletins each Sunday morning!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHzSQGoVc237PKRQpcpk4Vps7gyagdzf9tTHAQhDXaXmxbu_8W4yCutwMt6PVgR4ilVfPa7OYOk-nD6IXGIc1-k1UG2DAYDqJHvATxpgGFikVtrAo2GamFH5VRIJ4GP_xX-aRqgYgwbtSP/s1600/Mozarabe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHzSQGoVc237PKRQpcpk4Vps7gyagdzf9tTHAQhDXaXmxbu_8W4yCutwMt6PVgR4ilVfPa7OYOk-nD6IXGIc1-k1UG2DAYDqJHvATxpgGFikVtrAo2GamFH5VRIJ4GP_xX-aRqgYgwbtSP/s1600/Mozarabe.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Totally normal church decoration in the 1600s, I suppose.</span></b></td></tr>
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The best part was that the mass was held in a chapel that was closed during the visiting hours later that afternoon. It was a beautiful room, although I was a little weirded out by the giant mural of what I presume is a Christian victory over the Moors.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQXPNlUdLzIRcyqnkFxbkkeQntgqvbKc5RTnISIaV89B-rfOIrxbB0S9Y5Q2zy2EXwKJiMUDcjiit6JQgcJ8tkkUqxCPZSO1xvBBkO6GiJUuC8VCCPre_1Vm_XJgzqtSEw4RXEuG5HOOgi/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+202.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQXPNlUdLzIRcyqnkFxbkkeQntgqvbKc5RTnISIaV89B-rfOIrxbB0S9Y5Q2zy2EXwKJiMUDcjiit6JQgcJ8tkkUqxCPZSO1xvBBkO6GiJUuC8VCCPre_1Vm_XJgzqtSEw4RXEuG5HOOgi/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+202.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Almost every view of the lovely Alcazar facade is covered by the museum extension.</span></b></td></tr>
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After trying to visit the Santa Cruz museum to see more El Grecos, I headed instead to the Alcazar. It was almost difficult to find the entrance because they've covered one side with this modern-looking building. So first, I walked through the military miniatures museum, interesting for the different historical scenes it portrayed. The next part of the museum was a giant space where you could see all the different phases of the building revealed in its foundation.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwYqH023ZSGvYE32sTwi7VNe0QvXzW3nkeXG6fmUOw8SLq7ldt4OvjaQoKAtIv3m7Kwoo6QFqk3h5WC7vT5xzeS3eR9BCC1vyp0Gu3O6DyYAgthNAY_7WazgSGY-Yg78xCuDzUh8v4AEan/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+194.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwYqH023ZSGvYE32sTwi7VNe0QvXzW3nkeXG6fmUOw8SLq7ldt4OvjaQoKAtIv3m7Kwoo6QFqk3h5WC7vT5xzeS3eR9BCC1vyp0Gu3O6DyYAgthNAY_7WazgSGY-Yg78xCuDzUh8v4AEan/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+194.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Roman, Visigoth, Moorish, and Christian ruins.</span></b></td></tr>
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And then the military museum. It was a nice museum, but I wish I hadn't tried to visit the whole thing. Partly because I'm not as interested in the military side of history, and partly because it may have the poorest organization of any museum I've ever visited. Almost the entire fortress was destroyed during the Spanish Civil War, so they pretty much had a clean slate when building this thing. And somehow, they decided to turn it into a labyrinth of exhibition rooms. I was constantly missing a section and having to go back, or walking through the same rooms twice.<br />
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To make matters worse, the displays really didn't have a rhyme or reason either. I felt like they kept skipping around in history. When they got to all the revolutions and rebellions in the 1800s, I just ended up really confused about the whole timeline.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-oQ8jEnvIhtEMlBwJpIiE1xJmWWFGSKmsyr7b6PSXT37RYinzWJ54Xo41seAIW-nge1cGNsYEaB0Ol4_Z6aw73K0E8crjHtx6Wa42860p_xT8Xu5RKM15G_jqdnSeu5RJrouldoCuNeyg/s1600/IMG_0961.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-oQ8jEnvIhtEMlBwJpIiE1xJmWWFGSKmsyr7b6PSXT37RYinzWJ54Xo41seAIW-nge1cGNsYEaB0Ol4_Z6aw73K0E8crjHtx6Wa42860p_xT8Xu5RKM15G_jqdnSeu5RJrouldoCuNeyg/s1600/IMG_0961.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">They stuck a tent in the chapel. Why? No one knows.</span></b></td></tr>
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My favorite part about the museum was the one room they hadn't restored. For one, it still had character, unlike the stark white walls in the rest of the building. It was full of photos and stories from the Civil War that were truly eyeopening.<br />
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I walked over to the Cathedral and grabbed a pastry to eat while I waited in the long line to get in. Luckily for me, Spanish residents got in for free, so I didn't have to wait nearly as long as the tourists who had to buy tickets. The main thing I remember from the Cathedral is the organs. Multiple organs. [You know you've seen a lot of churches when the giant arched vaults aren't that impressive anymore.]<br />
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I also found Archbishop Carrillo, who played a large part in getting Queen Isabel on the throne, in the long line of Archbishops of Toledo painted on the walls of the chapter house.<br />
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To finish off the afternoon, I grabbed my bags from my hostel and took the long way back to the bus stop. My main goal was to see the Roman circus ruins that were listed on my map. There are only a few pieces left standing and they've created a lovely park around them. Still, it's impressive that they've stuck around for nearly two thousand years.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">The curve of the race track. I think the stands would have been just above this.</span></b></td></tr>
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Corinnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09824827682737672167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4205375303791238394.post-57885013267287238292014-04-30T10:19:00.000-05:002014-04-30T10:19:28.287-05:00Toledo Day 1[I want to come up with cute titles for these, but I don't think it's going to happen.]<br />
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For me, Easter break began at 7:00 p.m. on the 11th. After a car ride to Madrid filled with conversation about Morocco and a stay in a super cheap hostel, I made my way to the Toledo bus station. Not to be confused with the bus station I go to to get to Soria OR the main bus station.<br />
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There, I discovered that A) they don't sell buses for particular times/seats, which was perfect for me because I didn't know what time I'd want to leave and B) the discount for buying a return ticket only applies if you're returning the same day. Lame.<br />
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But the 2 extra euros were totally worth the extra time in the city.<br />
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I got to my hostel, armed with a map from the tourist office, and sat trying to figure out where to start. Luckily for me, the hostel guy who was changing the sheets in the room recommended I start by buying this Tourist Pass to six different sites for that day, because the Cathedral and Alcazar would be free the next day [Sunday]. And free is obviously always good.<br />
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I set out with the intention of buying my pass at one of the further sites. Somehow, I ended up going in completely the wrong direction, despite having a map, and ended up at the other end of the city. So I bought my pass, really one of those stick-on paper bracelets, at the Monastery of San Juan de los Reyes. It felt weirdly validating to wave my braceleted wrist and pass up the ticket booths at each of the monuments.<br />
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[Side note: I tried to keep the bracelet as a souvenir but ended up losing it. That's a story for later though.]<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPJzkbtwwux84S4UcIdzwtRGNCyWy8R8QhBH2ydo36dFRt8iRtOHQLLEQnetPysuO6XTmU_PGYvhuO01OqdRSJhsYn4Bm5_rQ6f0jHeX4dYaibUTbi1nmH8DhBRipB3GtY5VoTcMOj0nOp/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPJzkbtwwux84S4UcIdzwtRGNCyWy8R8QhBH2ydo36dFRt8iRtOHQLLEQnetPysuO6XTmU_PGYvhuO01OqdRSJhsYn4Bm5_rQ6f0jHeX4dYaibUTbi1nmH8DhBRipB3GtY5VoTcMOj0nOp/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+045.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
This monastery was smaller than others I've visited but absolutely beautiful inside. It was founded by los Reyes Catolicos [Isabel and Ferdinand] after they won some big battle...clearly my knowledge of Spanish history is still quite incomplete. However, I <i>do</i> know that Queen Isabel was a big fan of this particular St. John.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiglZVBgZjMnr-MpKrXoL_1xWerPmuNhHPxk3KsQMEh0M8tfYBN65EOT6qNEFrCzgSi4Cn6jvHjSk_dPvXN3qaWBikdyHaauLgoePnCLIvq_Tvy2NAvB79Z4s5UABm3M0AbAxdPW9AgiNEe/s1600/IMG_0954.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiglZVBgZjMnr-MpKrXoL_1xWerPmuNhHPxk3KsQMEh0M8tfYBN65EOT6qNEFrCzgSi4Cn6jvHjSk_dPvXN3qaWBikdyHaauLgoePnCLIvq_Tvy2NAvB79Z4s5UABm3M0AbAxdPW9AgiNEe/s1600/IMG_0954.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></div>
<br />
I walked a block down the street to reach the Synagogue of Santa Maria la Blanca. The Santa Maria part of the name comes from the Christians taking it over after they kicked the Jews out of Spain. It was the main synagogue when it was built in the 12th Century and was my first introduction to the beautiful arches that would appear in so many other buildings in Toledo [and later Cordoba].<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNcXNrVGem9ozoD0k41p6e7bipox2hayBgIQnYse6DtN_4akvMHsxbVYZoOuUptBnxPN4c78rAvi4ME1xfS25fJHl-GnJI23kwvlgzFuMQfJlsFrt5PatEwIcMIZ96rGtLbCzfqeCkAhSM/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+065.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNcXNrVGem9ozoD0k41p6e7bipox2hayBgIQnYse6DtN_4akvMHsxbVYZoOuUptBnxPN4c78rAvi4ME1xfS25fJHl-GnJI23kwvlgzFuMQfJlsFrt5PatEwIcMIZ96rGtLbCzfqeCkAhSM/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+065.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
I was planning on going to Santo Tome next, but being an El Greco site and this being the 400th anniversary of something El Greco related, there was a super long line. So I skipped it for the time being and went to the El Salvador Church instead. Reading my tourist bracelet pamphlet, this was originally a mosque from the 9th Century but in 1159 it was Christianized. In further Isabel and Ferdinand connections, their daughter Juana was baptized here.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEkwpWCVV-RdFA04yH4X8cdosLZSuFN-0rHfQMB8xjDhqAjwGoE9KbylkUuCnBsZq0zWw-fhqEqQhuElRFXhVj_EsnVqedFm7GpCSNWldlJLI2EnhvBVqATa7VRLFL0Gui50DVS7ewNaEK/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+087.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEkwpWCVV-RdFA04yH4X8cdosLZSuFN-0rHfQMB8xjDhqAjwGoE9KbylkUuCnBsZq0zWw-fhqEqQhuElRFXhVj_EsnVqedFm7GpCSNWldlJLI2EnhvBVqATa7VRLFL0Gui50DVS7ewNaEK/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+087.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
Continuing down the road, I found the San Ildefonso Church, also known as the Church of the Jesuits. It's the newest building; they only started building in 1569, although it was apparently not finished until 1765. I lovedlovedloved this church. After seeing so many in all the different styles, I'm a little desensitized to how awesomely beautiful they are, but for whatever reason, this one brought back that feeling. Plus I got to go up into the tower for some amazing views of the city.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtf54DC1LadfsvpEUZSHFiFF9BYPaOuD85n-4-PvwLUCPY78Ar5bJ05j5SXr7PhXZC4OXEyFeGhHw7k2fNm_PCujK-hNtnpQH3rVu49QQcDM-96W8_eyOnrfOjpeujntDwCeu5zMLXqN-e/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+096.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtf54DC1LadfsvpEUZSHFiFF9BYPaOuD85n-4-PvwLUCPY78Ar5bJ05j5SXr7PhXZC4OXEyFeGhHw7k2fNm_PCujK-hNtnpQH3rVu49QQcDM-96W8_eyOnrfOjpeujntDwCeu5zMLXqN-e/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+096.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4S3ekNFDN2JDHdMm41Z4libJ2DFlc65A6r2COv2l90w9wWFdeBgxqZBMSUt1ezFfp3DaixoBpIyQeD_ftKgwz7s4lEqZ0EHV-Y_imPO0IJ5TDAW15dwIJ-JHo03Qoz-R0XOkp8jvBZ_VU/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+103.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4S3ekNFDN2JDHdMm41Z4libJ2DFlc65A6r2COv2l90w9wWFdeBgxqZBMSUt1ezFfp3DaixoBpIyQeD_ftKgwz7s4lEqZ0EHV-Y_imPO0IJ5TDAW15dwIJ-JHo03Qoz-R0XOkp8jvBZ_VU/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+103.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I was really looking for somewhere to eat, but being notoriously indecisive, I managed to wander over to the next site without stopping. The Cristo de la Luz Mosque, like the Synagogue, was reconsecrated by the Christians, but I think it happened a lot earlier. There was a legend that the Queen, when entering Toledo after it was conquered [so like, 12th Century], felt a wind almost knock her off her horse as she passed by the mosque, so she insisted it become a Christian church.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZtpKH60LJUBwUbX-G6o16ZNmAreuBIOweDvIf2k_fc-4az1YFjsvowfKTfOkW4Pi6is2BjJccHWrFOEAudLaVH7D_ES_HYTS8QDFt3HswFf70hpbt-EAhdPrvCR7zdwn79c70UDg7T937/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+120.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZtpKH60LJUBwUbX-G6o16ZNmAreuBIOweDvIf2k_fc-4az1YFjsvowfKTfOkW4Pi6is2BjJccHWrFOEAudLaVH7D_ES_HYTS8QDFt3HswFf70hpbt-EAhdPrvCR7zdwn79c70UDg7T937/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+120.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
At that point, I'm pretty sure I gave in to my growling stomach and found somewhere to eat. And <i>then</i> I toughed it out in the line for the Santo Tome Church. Which as it turns out, was just there because people were crowded into a small space to see <i>El Entierro del Senor de Orgaz</i>, the El Greco painting in the church. And when I say people, I mostly mean tour groups that stood and talked about it for-freaking-ever and made it difficult to get up close and see. So I spent a few minutes marveling at the actual church before pushing my way to the front of the crowd to look at the painting.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL79PrPXMugEJ_O3Wrz8pGlluCv0Vj37lKzkOpWHIYxnNG-b9JvDr0NpA9M16TmaofxxBYA_n6HsJOw9DDEVofXNk81J3pUbgqVHwfOTS3X7WAezVmhP43dloT4z9fGptHFYSS-PQhvceZ/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+127.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL79PrPXMugEJ_O3Wrz8pGlluCv0Vj37lKzkOpWHIYxnNG-b9JvDr0NpA9M16TmaofxxBYA_n6HsJOw9DDEVofXNk81J3pUbgqVHwfOTS3X7WAezVmhP43dloT4z9fGptHFYSS-PQhvceZ/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+127.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
Then, because I had time and things are on their summer schedules and therefore open later, I went to two museum. For free!<br />
<br />
I started at the El Greco Museum. It's housed in an old house that was built by a Jewish treasurer or court official or something like that in the 1400s. A couple hundred years later, some rich guy bought it because El Greco lived there at some point and restored it to create this museum. I didn't end up getting to the Santa Cruz museum [the bigger El Greco museum] so I'm glad I got to see this one, because those paintings are incredible to see in person.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsAsXKRdHF8yVLyyNsrIiNUBMo0_xPd7arDLTCuKAZEOTZSCR8_kM9Q7jLmHqdkE6sPMHpVW2FLfccOJOlUfTKLT_-DEwGCwdchsho3zBpcY1vLsoTvelO32vf-u7rXXQgFoMfYa3X53tM/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+138.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsAsXKRdHF8yVLyyNsrIiNUBMo0_xPd7arDLTCuKAZEOTZSCR8_kM9Q7jLmHqdkE6sPMHpVW2FLfccOJOlUfTKLT_-DEwGCwdchsho3zBpcY1vLsoTvelO32vf-u7rXXQgFoMfYa3X53tM/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+138.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Plus the rose garden smelled wonderful.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVlasq6FFK2IctrcOLSOZ7owO99R1om_-DeFRRoUVrVs5hUgbRU7_DoCHxpGdf1LaVTOFiyt-1WW__3ZgOp24qb1eAV3iv-w0Z0RYBMO0lfT56GFIeDClLhYSRN_tOvNlbpZ9kyOd-U1M_/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+146.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVlasq6FFK2IctrcOLSOZ7owO99R1om_-DeFRRoUVrVs5hUgbRU7_DoCHxpGdf1LaVTOFiyt-1WW__3ZgOp24qb1eAV3iv-w0Z0RYBMO0lfT56GFIeDClLhYSRN_tOvNlbpZ9kyOd-U1M_/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+146.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
After that, I headed across the street to visit the Sephardic Museum (in the former Synagogue El Transito). It consisted of the main worship room - are they called sanctuaries if they're Jewish? - a rememberance garden, and a few galleries with historical objects, including the Women's Section that looks over the main...sanctuary.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGxCheRirq1Vlgl8WMqpcp9Velmw3wuPatn6uia2ZsHJJ9lTegkP5Q80snByIx8CqpCJrbR01gcc_yq6SZW0IREqiNwe31EUsvh5HVkrpiHgOlPhu3G28WpjxMAf4X6gxB02DR1Ygi1uOP/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+147.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGxCheRirq1Vlgl8WMqpcp9Velmw3wuPatn6uia2ZsHJJ9lTegkP5Q80snByIx8CqpCJrbR01gcc_yq6SZW0IREqiNwe31EUsvh5HVkrpiHgOlPhu3G28WpjxMAf4X6gxB02DR1Ygi1uOP/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+147.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
I took a lovely walk across the San Martin bridge and <i>saw</i> the panoramic photo spot, but decided it was too far and I'd had enough walking. I admired <i>my</i> view until it got too cold and windy, so I bought myself a Nestea and headed back to my hostel. Mmmmm Nestea.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhRFI8E1TgbegXxz14a7IWbz4xVax6r6PmLMt8zowR9g9FHvNSeVtsA-x97k0Bsfv5JX7DNPFRthYSIGqAZ5_WDHzUVly91lRGrGEGsOc2JTbHT1MPvmJUnmHh8Z-oXVOVYQSUPK46yERi/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+180.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhRFI8E1TgbegXxz14a7IWbz4xVax6r6PmLMt8zowR9g9FHvNSeVtsA-x97k0Bsfv5JX7DNPFRthYSIGqAZ5_WDHzUVly91lRGrGEGsOc2JTbHT1MPvmJUnmHh8Z-oXVOVYQSUPK46yERi/s1600/Semana+Santa+2014+180.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
Corinnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09824827682737672167noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4205375303791238394.post-22527799016766195232014-04-24T06:06:00.000-05:002014-04-24T06:06:28.839-05:00Back from the DeadMetaphorically speaking, of course.<br />
<br />
I'm sure I've said this a thousand times already, but I am terrible about remembering that I have a blog to update. And travel pictures to upload. And dishes to wash.<br />
<br />
I want to be able to focus on accomplishing all these things, but I always almost-accidentally seem to binge watch TV instead. Especially YouTube series. Right after I finally gave up on a few network TV series, I've gotten addicted to several more online. It's a little ridiculous.<br />
<br />
[On a related note, I will take the time to watch shows just to see some of my favorite YouTube actors on "real" shows. I find it adorable - even more so when they're in commercials.]<br />
<br />
This week, I'm blaming it on the chilly, rainy weather we've been having. Alas. Such a letdown after my nice sunny week in Morocco.<br />
<br />
BUT, even if I have to unplug my wireless router, I am determined to turn off the TV shows and get busy writing and photo uploading this weekend. I promise. Between my camera and my phone, I think I have just under 900 pictures to share, which will definitely take forever. So they'll be going up on the blog in smaller doses while I wrangle with the Facebook album uploader.<br />
<br />
Check back probably tomorrow for the first installment of Toledo pictures. For a small town/short trip, there are quite a lot of them.Corinnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09824827682737672167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4205375303791238394.post-29866601264273018712014-04-05T14:46:00.001-05:002014-04-05T14:46:15.915-05:00Education in Spain<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here are just a few of the differences I've noted between Spanish and American high schools:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<b>My school building was originally a 16<sup>th</sup> century
monastery.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
It's served a variety of purposes since being built, including a hospital, before becoming a secondary school in the mid 1800s. That means it has no lockers, spotty wifi [it has trouble getting through the thick walls], a former chapel turned mini-museum full of old science equipment, etc. It <i>also</i> means that it's a tourist stop in the city, mostly because Spanish poet Antonio Machado was a teacher there. They even have a room on the ground floor that's done up to look like a classroom would have looked when he was teaching.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhWYSo9u_6_K9KYua3PBUNaD573qVZ_LEgtLpKSB_usW7KwJwTuTWiEKXentBDVJ6QfqTQuTrFPrRNhyphenhypheni_oIr2bZinaFvscvmA5AkREeq0OBgJ0f66ITr2afHkJrZVuEE3_SiVZqAewz3O/s1600/Photo+Dump+4-5+044.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhWYSo9u_6_K9KYua3PBUNaD573qVZ_LEgtLpKSB_usW7KwJwTuTWiEKXentBDVJ6QfqTQuTrFPrRNhyphenhypheni_oIr2bZinaFvscvmA5AkREeq0OBgJ0f66ITr2afHkJrZVuEE3_SiVZqAewz3O/s1600/Photo+Dump+4-5+044.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Antonio all decked out for his birthday.</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Students refer to their teachers by first name.</b><br />
<br />
And not out of rudeness or over-familiarity. There's just a different definition for respecting the teacher.<br />
<br />
Behavior-wise, most of the kids are amazing. But they talk [with each other, at least] so much more than anyone would have dared in my high school classes. They generally keep it pretty quiet, but if a kid crosses the line, the teacher sends him or her [but usually him, let's be honest] into the hallway for the rest of the class. In a few of my classes, especially when I'm alone with one half, it is so hard to get the entire class to pay attention at the same time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>The education system is set up a little differently too.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
There are four years of secondary school, the equivalent of 7th-10th grades. Attendance is compulsory until age 16, after which students can continue studying another 2 years in Bachillerato classes in preparation for university, or they do vocational training instead.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Primary school is a little different too. The kids have said that their language instruction begins at age 3, which from a developmental perspective is great. Of course, that also means that they basically have public preschools within their primary schools which are so hard to find at home.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhnp8mlyvea18gCDIgFQ0_lXsgyvMpIOsLP4rpK5XgY9RrFD_WiO6Wd1XAj1nvrKGZUVgKuJvlv0VW6liD61josCm9pt6i0bCrAV38i2qUxGahCNbRUVpWkF_HfMr2Sb1iGr0ldSFNUf1X/s1600/Photo+Dump+4-5+040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhnp8mlyvea18gCDIgFQ0_lXsgyvMpIOsLP4rpK5XgY9RrFD_WiO6Wd1XAj1nvrKGZUVgKuJvlv0VW6liD61josCm9pt6i0bCrAV38i2qUxGahCNbRUVpWkF_HfMr2Sb1iGr0ldSFNUf1X/s1600/Photo+Dump+4-5+040.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Snow in the courtyard in February.</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>Teachers change classrooms (as do students, but to a lesser
extent).</b><br />
<br />
There aren't enough classrooms for each teacher to have their own, so they're moving around all day. Each department has its own “Sala de profesores” where the teachers leave their things and keep resources. But there's not really a specific area of the school for each subject, except for classes in the science laboratories.<br />
<br />
Instead, the students are grouped into smaller groups inside their grade level and each group has their own classroom. So for example, the 3rd year students [9th graders] have four groups: 3A, 3B, 3C, and 3D. But then there are some classes [like the bilingual ones] that have a few kids from each group, so they use whatever classrooms are free during that period.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Three flags over the entrance of the school.</b></span></td></tr>
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<b>Speaking of which, the daily schedule is worlds away from blocked scheduling.</b><br />
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Classes are 50 minutes long which is great for me because that means I don't have to hold the kids' attention quite as long. There are two short breaks during the day but no lunch period. So they have two classes, a 20 minute recess, two more classes, 25 minutes of recess, and then the last two classes. The younger students are supposed to stay inside during the breaks, but the older ones are allowed to leave.<br />
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The most interesting thing to me is that the schedule is the same week to week NOT day to day. So despite having a shorter school day - school goes from 8:15 to 2:15 - the kids are studying more subjects. For some electives, they might only have 1 hour a week, while they have 3 or 4 English class periods. The only problem is that classes which are scheduled for Mondays and Fridays have a lot more non-class days [usually due to holidays or class trips] than others and they get behind.</div>
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</xml><![endif]-->Corinnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09824827682737672167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4205375303791238394.post-68491351172989597862014-03-25T16:41:00.002-05:002014-03-25T16:41:58.196-05:00The Impact of a Mitten<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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After a partially disastrous trip to Madrid this past weekend, I've resolved to catch up on all the travelling-in-Spain posts that I've meant to write and yet somehow...haven't. I am the worst when it comes to procrastinating on things without deadlines. I unfortunately got really good at getting essays done last minute when it came to school, and now without that slightly panicked, I-have-four-hours-left-to-finish adrenaline, I have so much trouble writing. So. Here's hoping this resolution is one I can actually keep.<div>
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It's going to take a while. But better late than never, right?</div>
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Anyways, Madrid. When my family was here at Christmas, we spent a day and a half in the city. But due to a couple of factors, namely it being the end of our whirlwind tour of Spain, we didn't do many of the "must see" tourist destinations so I've been meaning to go back ever since. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Waiting in line for an hour.</span></b></td></tr>
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[We actually only got to spend 3 hours at the Prado which, sad times. But I'm going to do the museums on my next visit and I can get in for free with my ID because I'm here on a student visa! Yay technicalities!]</div>
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Noticing a possibility for snow in the forecast for last Saturday [which didn't pan out, but now it's supposed to snow tomorrow...boo], I quickly booked one night at a Madrid hostel. I am also currently hosting a Flat Stanley from a friend's elementary school class and I figured pictures of the palace in Madrid would be pretty cool :)</div>
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Looking at bus schedules, I learned that there was a strike going on. About half of the normally planned buses between Madrid and Soria aren't running at the moment. No big deal, I thought, I can always try the ride-sharing thing if I need to. [Spoiler: this didn't work out so well.]</div>
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Because of the strike, I meant to buy my ticket ahead of time just in case, but since Fridays are super busy, it completely slipped my mind. When I got to the bus station Saturday morning, the first bus was already "completo."</div>
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Crap. I sat down in the waiting room and sent a message to a ride-share guy that was leaving in 45 minutes. And then, miraculously, someone returned their ticket and I got a seat.</div>
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My first stop in Madrid was the Apple Store. This has a ridiculously long backstory, but basically: parents bought me a new [used] iPhone for Christmas since my dad's old one is too old for most apps. Previous owner was a jerk and had neither unlocked nor erased/reset the phone before selling it. I can therefore do nothing but use the alarm, take pictures, and play Solitaire.</div>
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So my dad suggested I go to an Apple Store to see if they would delete his accounts for me. They wouldn't.</div>
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Which was really annoying to learn after an hour on the Metro and the 1.50 euro surcharge I had to pay because the store was in a mall waaaaay outside the city center. I was consoled by purchasing the most delicious pita sandwich I think I've ever eaten.</div>
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The rest of the afternoon was fantastic. I dropped my stuff off at the hostel and headed out for sightseeing. I first stopped at the Sabatini Gardens which my family and I had missed despite being about 500 feet away from them [right next to the palace]. These are a fairly new addition, having been built where the royal stables used to be.</div>
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After admiring the view and successfully giving someone directions to the Cathedral, I headed over to the Templo del Debod. Basically, the Spanish helped the Egyptians save some ancient temples, and to say thanks, the Egyptians gave them one.</div>
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So there's a legit Egyptian temple in the middle of Madrid.</div>
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The park around the temple is also beautiful, so I wandered a bit before getting in the line to go inside. It was pretty windy, so I was debating the value of waiting in the cold just to see this little temple. But I would say it was worth it, especially since it was free. The carvings that were still preserved on the walls were incredible! Plus now I can say I've seen a little piece of Egypt, even if I never make it there myself.</div>
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I stopped for dinner at a pizza place I had passed earlier because I have been craving pizza like crazy. I was good and went to a little Spanish restaurant and refrained from stopping at a Domino's by the mall for lunch. I got one slice of "canibal" pizza - basically meat lovers, none of them being human - and the "pizza of the day" which was cheese with a Spanish cucumber-like vegetable.</div>
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Also it was 3 euros. I am cheap, especially when it comes to food.</div>
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Sunday morning, I was woken bright and far too early by some crazy 6 a.m. partiers on the street. And then only half slept the next hour and a half because everyone in the hostel snored <i>so loudly</i>. I swear, all the snorers in the city were staying there.</div>
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But they offered free breakfast, which makes up for a lot.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Catedral de la Almudena</span></b></td></tr>
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I walked back to the same part of town to visit the Cathedral and Palace. By this point, I've been inside so many Spanish churches that they all start to blend together. The distinguishing factor here was the modern stained glass windows and the decoration of the ceiling. It's a painted ceiling, but really just in patterns and bands of color, which is not very typical. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Also, look at that organ.</span></b></td></tr>
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[The Valencia Cathedral had some similar murals commissioned by Rodrigo Borgia, AKA the Pope with a bunch of kids who maybe had a fondness for poisoning people.]</div>
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I also visited the Crypt, which was beautiful but appropriately somber. Unfortunately, the Cathedral Museum and access to the cupola are not open on Sundays, so I'll have to go back another time.</div>
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Then the Royal Palace.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Oh, the Royal Palace.</span></b></td></tr>
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I was so disappointed in December when we arrived 1 minute [literally, <i>one</i> minute] after they stopped letting people in. So this was my primary goal for the weekend. I timed it perfectly - I walked up and bought my ticket with no line whatsoever. There were a few people waiting when I walked past to go to the Cathedral, and even more when I was leaving, so I was really happy with how that turned out.</div>
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I skipped the 4 euro audioguides and just stalked a couple of tour groups for extra background information on all the rooms. I'm going to borrow a couple of pictures from Google to show y'all since photos aren't allowed inside.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">The throne room. The lions were part of a table that burnt in a fire. So they added the tops of their heads and here they are.</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirp-iU8PqgL9ueBUV8uu2IhIQi1qkvfIMTm8m3qTleJePCBeHkKh758LKFIWHalET5gWUp09JjXtBrWdAYJ92kZOVf5gsPJPkJVaIk00SopkopRNyNfkmoWCiTpK4EquQuD9ZyRTLu9xem/s1600/5db910606c8da2a6c077fbb71834618f.jpg" height="168" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">The Gasparini Room. Embroidering the walls [yes, embroidering] took 55 years, about twice as long as constructing the whole palace.</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">The Banquet Hall, created so one of the King Alfonsos could throw a big wedding party for his daughter. Before, it had been 3 rooms: the Queen's breakfast, lunch, and dining rooms. [The King had his own three rooms for eating.]</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">The Royal Chapel. They've got Saint Felix's mummy on display here because Queen Isabel II liked him so much, the Pope gave him to her as a present.</span></b></td></tr>
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Basically, it was fantastic.<br />
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I stopped for some mildly expensive churros y chocolate on my way back to my hostel, since I never could find a street vendor selling them. And then, disaster struck.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
First, I realized that all but the very last bus to Soria were booked. This would have been okay, but I was really looking forward to Skyping with my family that evening and getting home at midnight was therefore not ideal.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Second, none of the ride-share drivers would return my messages/calls. I realize I should have arranged this more than 24 hours before, but really. There were four rides being offered, so I expected at least one of them to call back. Giving up on that, I bought a bus ticket online, thanking my lucky stars that the guy at the hostel desk let me use their printer.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Third, I lost a mitten.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And not just any mitten. My beautiful, orange, wool, handmade in Peru mitten. My super warm, combination glove/mitten. I <i>love</i> those mittens. I had been wearing them in the chilly morning and put them in my purse after going to the Cathedral, so it could have been lost anytime after that. I had to work to hold back tears.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I had a cup of tea to console myself, accidentally wandered through a new part of Madrid, headed back over to the tourist area to see if, by some miraculous chance someone had found my poor mitten at the palace or the churros restaurant [they hadn't] and then...waited. I bought a light dinner at the Corte Ingles, people watched in the Plaza del Sol, and stopped to listen to street musicians.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Eventually, it got to cold to sit around outside, so I hopped back on the Metro to wait in the bus station for about an hour and a half. [At least I finally finished Anna Karenina because of that wait.] I blessedly slept the whole bus ride, startling awake about two minutes before we pulled into the Soria bus station, and managed to Skype with my family after all.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1RqjfFNRnlnR5IFlk0nxNJaN3pMBizpxdwmeFZwT5dIcWt9OluYCwlMdpiMeo8X3Vqmq4Qe0p_b6mICfmGcyHEbWUEJTPVD6l8eo2m2-PQoRrq0avrwwbldUQEOaeLeH0ouLDG75ZMmPn/s1600/P1060390.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1RqjfFNRnlnR5IFlk0nxNJaN3pMBizpxdwmeFZwT5dIcWt9OluYCwlMdpiMeo8X3Vqmq4Qe0p_b6mICfmGcyHEbWUEJTPVD6l8eo2m2-PQoRrq0avrwwbldUQEOaeLeH0ouLDG75ZMmPn/s1600/P1060390.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Palace and Cathedral, seen from the Templo del Debod park.</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
So while as a whole, it was really a good experience, that poor lost mitten really tainted the weekend. [And the bus hassles. But those at least resolved themselves.]</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
RIP, dear little mitten. I hope you're enjoying yourself, wherever you ended up.</div>
Corinnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09824827682737672167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4205375303791238394.post-73824009118537220372014-03-09T15:00:00.000-05:002014-03-09T15:00:11.777-05:00The Best Laid PlansEver since I first found out, late last August, that I was actually going to teach in Spain, I was thrilled. And not just about the living in Spain part. I was most excited because I [finally] had the next two years of my life planned out. That hasn't happened since I accepted my spot at Texas State.<br />
<br />
Three weeks ago, I decided not to renew my position for another year, letting go of my dreams of living in Andalucia.<br />
<br />
Which puts me back in my post-college what-am-I-doing-with-my-life mindset.<br />
<br />
Which is quite the struggle for organized, planning me.<br />
<br />
Somehow, this seems to keep happening to me. I grew up <i>knowing</i> that I was going to be a teacher. I have a very distinct memory of a guest speaker we had in a youth group meeting at the very beginning of my senior year of high school. She asked if any of us knew, 100% for sure, what we were going to do for a living. So I, supremely confident, raised my hand and said decisively, "I'm going to be a teacher."<br />
<br />
Less than a month later, I had changed my mind.<br />
<br />
So I started college getting my degree in Family and Child Development instead of Education. At the time, I was planning on being a Child Life Specialist [if I haven't already explained it to you, basically it's a job where you make kids in the hospital happier]. <br />
<br />
And then I changed my mind again. I did my internship at a Child Placing Agency and fully intended on working for CPS after I graduated.<br />
<br />
Well, that plan clearly didn't work out for me. I spent the next few months getting over my I'm-terribly-burnt-out-from-school-and-job-hunting funk and then was offered a terrific part-time position at a preschool. I was reminded how much I lovelovelove toddlers. There are not many people who seem to like this stage best [hence the term terrible twos] but it is my absolute favorite.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, the Peace Corps doesn't need a lot of preschool teachers. So I applied for the Spain job and said I wouldn't be back in the fall because, as much as I love those babies, I also desperately needed to travel. Overseas.<br />
<br />
And then I didn't hear from them, and didn't hear from them. So, change of plans again! I got a full-time nanny job for the sweetest baby boy, with a lovely family, that I was planning on staying at for a year, at which point I was going to try for Spain again.<br />
<br />
Ha!<br />
<br />
Here I am, teaching in Spain 5 years after I decided I could never be a teacher. [For some reason, teaching languages is a little better than teaching other subjects, although the variety in the education systems in Peru and Spain also makes a big difference.] And it's great, and I get to travel, and I'm earning money.<br />
<br />
But.<br />
<br />
But I'm sick of high schoolers.<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong, most of my classes are <i>great</i>. There are a lot of kids that are really invested in learning English, and their level is <i>much</i> higher than that of most American students. But the ones that aren't just...<i>aren't</i>. They talk over me, they don't pay attention, and they make me really, really miss my sweet toddlers.<br />
<br />
These past 5 months have reinforced the knowledge that I am not cut out to be a grade school teacher. Preschool is my home. [It's also the most important age for attachment, and therefore foster/adopted kids, and therefore combines two of my loves.]<br />
<br />
And as much as I enjoy living here, I realized, as I procrastinated on working on my reapplication, that there's not a lot left I want to do in Spain. I've done a ton of traveling, practiced some Spanish, and eaten a lot of delicious paella. When trying to picture next year, maybe in Granada, the only thing I was looking forward to was coming home during Christmas break and having a Presbyterian-ish church to go to.<br />
<br />
Which are not good reasons to commit to living somewhere for nine months.<br />
<br />
So now I'm working on a new plan. And I'm really excited about it and can't wait to share it with everyone. But this post is long and picture-less enough as it is, so that will have to wait for another day.Corinnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09824827682737672167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4205375303791238394.post-38795729627334297392014-03-05T15:55:00.002-06:002014-03-05T15:55:41.557-06:00Adventures in Pancake MakingI consider myself a decent cook. And usually a good baker too. But no matter how hard I try to follow recipes or keep the kitchen clean while I work, it never seems to go quite so smoothly.<br />
<br />
So of course, my first stab at solo pancake making was bound to be interesting. [Especially because there are no mixing bowls in my apartment. I don't understand how this happened. We have an overflowing cupboard full of them at home.]<br />
<br />
BUT pancakes are a must for Shrove Tuesday/Mardi Gras. Since I can't be at my church eating pancakes and applesauce and sausage patties, I dug up a recipe I had saved - well, it ended up being a combination of two recipes - and got to work buying ingredients. And this is how it turned out.<br />
<br />
Step One: Find a YouTube playlist of New Orleans jazz music<br />
<br />
Step Two: Make the batter [and in this case, a cinnamon filling as well]<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM62M4SPWTvYcPG5Ww8etINd1LISXGMd0nX2f7t3QIOU52X7MvCfgtcKCNLCsJnJGsWcb386BjlqKbILmezo7KamDZkuUBePZQTG8Mfvtx7O1HM0lQVCTsI7_Cw1qyjlE5pB7f5Jfxz9jw/s1600/Pancake1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM62M4SPWTvYcPG5Ww8etINd1LISXGMd0nX2f7t3QIOU52X7MvCfgtcKCNLCsJnJGsWcb386BjlqKbILmezo7KamDZkuUBePZQTG8Mfvtx7O1HM0lQVCTsI7_Cw1qyjlE5pB7f5Jfxz9jw/s1600/Pancake1.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
The ingredient-mixing itself wasn't that hard and I only made a <i>tiny </i>mess with the cinnamon sugar. Yay! I did have to make some substitutions due to Spain not having vegetable oil, and had to leave off a yummy sounding cream cheese glaze because I haven't seen any powdered sugar. I even realized how big of a recipe it was and halfed it [the batter still lasted two days, but what's wrong with two days of pancake dinners?].<br />
<br />
Step Three: Grease pan with butter and plop down the pancake mixture<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh16hKsV8yXTcAhxloWs_sIuSqESSZnd210bcYuNuXb6RX3DUUOapcOdoXIUJRWwd432c2VH-kQiHZmEA78iPVraMNKI6uDaWrI-AWdLsFdUUdT7lEqHK4PM5-xZGZEl7LWc9BOTTtHFzIH/s1600/Pancake2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh16hKsV8yXTcAhxloWs_sIuSqESSZnd210bcYuNuXb6RX3DUUOapcOdoXIUJRWwd432c2VH-kQiHZmEA78iPVraMNKI6uDaWrI-AWdLsFdUUdT7lEqHK4PM5-xZGZEl7LWc9BOTTtHFzIH/s1600/Pancake2.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
This is not as easy to do when you're guestimating how much butter to melt because there is no non-stick cooking spray in my apartment. Maybe in all of Spain. Who knows?<br />
<br />
Step Four: Swirl in some cinnamon<br />
<br />
Technically you could follow the instructions from the recipe and use an icing bag/ziploc to make a nice circle. But when you have neither of those things, a tea spoon will do just fine.<br />
<br />
Step Five: Flip<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbUMow-8Cb8nOeQD4JVtm_wlLtk4s0hi9j1LZXX7sBnWnUdAtpZt4MVx1TfdqQB1nsvx3pnaYlvG5UM_FTlas-3MicG-tw0ziUqcPjyghF33Ck0yNsdEqTPcdOKAkUHDW6DukfK-_v6E0e/s1600/Pancake3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbUMow-8Cb8nOeQD4JVtm_wlLtk4s0hi9j1LZXX7sBnWnUdAtpZt4MVx1TfdqQB1nsvx3pnaYlvG5UM_FTlas-3MicG-tw0ziUqcPjyghF33Ck0yNsdEqTPcdOKAkUHDW6DukfK-_v6E0e/s1600/Pancake3.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
This is where it got dicey. The cinnamon swirl, while a tasty addition, also makes the pancakes flimsier. Which I wasn't quite expecting when I made my first gigantic pancake, hence the broken pieces above. Poor pancake #1.<br />
<br />
[Also, is it strange that I think of the Aral Sea every time I look at that picture?]<br />
<br />
Step Six: Eat!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNRJbwfaMeZ6YuBWZUlGTWRZF1APyBQaF18GvNIOevOTB9jchHz4YnEfSiQe3bqRNs0uZoIQPtA9qCplJf3cQbi5IXEwz0EHTQlHUSkzxEx50jP6bTN1PV_c5c0QaaBtlF6JoZpY0Pz3CB/s1600/Pancake4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNRJbwfaMeZ6YuBWZUlGTWRZF1APyBQaF18GvNIOevOTB9jchHz4YnEfSiQe3bqRNs0uZoIQPtA9qCplJf3cQbi5IXEwz0EHTQlHUSkzxEx50jP6bTN1PV_c5c0QaaBtlF6JoZpY0Pz3CB/s1600/Pancake4.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I'm obviously a lot biased, but these are some of the best pancakes I've ever eaten.<br />
<br />
Here's the recipe. For the pancakes, just mix the dry ingredients together, add in the wet ones and mix them until all the flour is blended in. For the filling, I melted the butter in a glass dish then added the cinnamon and sugar. Then you basically make them like regular pancakes - although the recipe did say to be careful not to cook them too fast because the cinnamon could burn.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in;">
<b>Pancakes<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">2 cups all-purpose
flour</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">4 tsps baking powder</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">2 cups milk</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">1 mashed banana [my Google-approved substitute for 2 tbsps vegetable oil]</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">2 large eggs</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">1 tsp vanilla extract [because I didn't make the glaze]<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
</li>
</ul>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in;">
<b>Cinnamon Filling<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">1/2 cup butter, melted</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">3/4 cup brown sugar,
packed</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">1 tbsp ground cinnamon</li>
</ul>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in;">
<b>Cream Cheese Glaze<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<br />
<ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">1/4 cup butter</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">2 oz. cream cheese</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">3/4 cups powdered
sugar</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">1 tsp. vanilla</li>
</ul>
Corinnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09824827682737672167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4205375303791238394.post-67008740934326895682014-02-16T14:01:00.001-06:002014-02-16T14:01:44.376-06:00Thoughts on Sochi Figure SkatingAnd just like that, the first week of the Olympics is already done.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRjD0r-u-YgL4UPvxKXLqMNlR0adnjq7rhpktW1JIb73K9sjOQ4zlLtcOLcyc0iA-EKrhkyMMpllLCdrs31iWxbUoFhEu1aXof1osn53OhMWt41qPCiEH6pksBm9Yc4a8ZV1VGDA7uifB3/s1600/torch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRjD0r-u-YgL4UPvxKXLqMNlR0adnjq7rhpktW1JIb73K9sjOQ4zlLtcOLcyc0iA-EKrhkyMMpllLCdrs31iWxbUoFhEu1aXof1osn53OhMWt41qPCiEH6pksBm9Yc4a8ZV1VGDA7uifB3/s1600/torch.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
This was alternately an exhilarating and heartbreaking week, for figure skating at least. I made myself hold off on spamming my Facebook page with <i>all </i>my commentary; the ones that made it through were generally about the Russians or Javier Fernandez.<br />
<br />
Poor Javi. I definitely curled up on my couch Friday night after the free skate for a 10 minute he-just-needed-two-more-points pity party.<br />
<br />
In other couch related news, I decided to paint my nails while watching one of the events. And of course, the one time I don't grab a piece of scrap paper to put under the bottle, I spilt it on my couch. Luckily for me, the color of the nail polish matches the color of couch almost exactly.<br />
<br />
<b>Team Event</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Brand new this year and just in time, the team event was wonderful wonderful wonderful. All I did last weekend was watch figure skating, which was gloriously broadcast live, commercial and interruption free. Hours upon hours of skating.<br />
<br />
Firstly, I think it's nice to include more skaters in the competition. Even though they had no shot, the Brits got to bring an extra skater or two because they qualified. So a mid-level skater gets to be an Olympian, and maybe the teams with a weakness in an event will start seeing improvement [I'm talking about you, Japan]. We'll see.<br />
<br />
Secondly, one of the Canadian skaters [I'm pretty sure an ice dancer] was super cute about participating - you could hear her say, "I was skating on Olympic ice!" on her way to the Kiss and Cry after the short program, and "I didn't want to get off the ice" after the free skate.<br />
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<br />
Lastly, and most importantly, it ensured that Evgeni Plushenko would get another well deserved Olympic gold medal. [Although I do wish Adelina Sotnikova could've skated her short program. It would've been nice for her to have a medal too.]<br />
<br />
<b>Pairs</b><br />
<br />
I have to admit, the Olympics are the only time I really watch Pairs skating. [Same goes for ice dance.] I enjoy it, of course, and they do some incredible throws and lifts, but I only vaguely follow who's leading in the intervening years. There's just too many other skaters for me to keep track of. But here's what I thought:<br />
<br />
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<br />
Aliona Savchenko and Robin Szolkowy's free skate costumes are so nice, so why the pink panther monstrosity? I have always despised those costumes, especially hers. Which makes me sad because not enough lady skaters wear pants.<br />
<br />
Tiny 16 year old Cheng Peng doing a quad twist is pretty darn incredible to witness.<br />
<br />
There are <i>so many</i> Ukrainian skaters competing for other countries. A few Russians and Americans do this as well [all the Reed siblings], but still, it's astounding.<br />
<br />
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<br />
The short program really is Tatiana Volosozhar and Maxim Trankov's forte. I could watch them over and over again. The free skate? Maybe I just found the Jesus Christ Superstar music too jarring to hear during a competition compared to the gala, where it would be great.<br />
<br />
I think the 3rd Russians were underscored in both segments. I saw some grumbling headlines about the team competition being fixed, but clearly there isn't a bias towards the Russians. They're just that good.<br />
<br />
<b>Men</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
I am utterly crushed that Plushenko was in too much pain to compete on home ice after he tried so hard to do it. [And also that his tour will probably be postponed until after I leave Europe.] How do you skate after the greatest skater alive has just withdrawn? Badly, it seems. So many falls from so many good skaters. Either that or the ice is cursed.<br />
<br />
The worst crash and fall? Jeremy Abbott. Ouch. I apologized for every mean thing I've said about him after he picked himself up after that and had a great skate. [Not that I was surprised he fell...again.]<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVyNuRTJ3TgMilWBkNPcrkbEWA643QPzl1jUdKAYHL_HDxQLMI6FdMKGkJWxkpO4m5c9529Pnvwr5BK2Q-lL3M5HL1SIPxKoVtfllW1tRho2G_ojrjgMz9EZuXRECLf_BZTchgsu2uz1iy/s1600/MCM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVyNuRTJ3TgMilWBkNPcrkbEWA643QPzl1jUdKAYHL_HDxQLMI6FdMKGkJWxkpO4m5c9529Pnvwr5BK2Q-lL3M5HL1SIPxKoVtfllW1tRho2G_ojrjgMz9EZuXRECLf_BZTchgsu2uz1iy/s1600/MCM.jpg" height="200" width="183" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBJ5kWVdnOJhUhNMDtt_u6H_AFPhKHDYD4N59cqppoIPr153208_M5BgXaVMfEb9Z86iIPrmtfd9r1vWVqq2rEgz2bRz4zj5fjg74bIZWXzMiQaGuONbyUX52KtXlVYqxUmpqKx9aJ3H5_/s1600/Jb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBJ5kWVdnOJhUhNMDtt_u6H_AFPhKHDYD4N59cqppoIPr153208_M5BgXaVMfEb9Z86iIPrmtfd9r1vWVqq2rEgz2bRz4zj5fjg74bIZWXzMiQaGuONbyUX52KtXlVYqxUmpqKx9aJ3H5_/s1600/Jb.jpg" height="200" width="152" /></a></div>
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Skaters to watch: Michael Christian Martinez and Jason Brown. The first Filipino to qualify for the Olympics, this kid was fantastic. And I rolled my eyes every time I saw some headline about Jason being in medal contention. Yeah, he's got a shot...4 years from now. What a great spinner though. If he just gets his quads down...<br />
<br />
Why does Kevin Reynold's hair/costume always look weird? Poor kid. He has a really cute nose though. Which I realize is a strange thing to say.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz3Wi5bGcTvcmfO5DqOhUaKEOJnL_B1wLpzTheo1hzP2STfiLS2-JYDzqX5x6YSk5JO5n5eB3mX43hdqPPZhKeEtYsn8j1UJgMKVJqDfMUJWbX_Zq2gZg0GupDk6vObF32aQnvN91y6qMM/s1600/Slide-_patinadors-Jaca-P1030985.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz3Wi5bGcTvcmfO5DqOhUaKEOJnL_B1wLpzTheo1hzP2STfiLS2-JYDzqX5x6YSk5JO5n5eB3mX43hdqPPZhKeEtYsn8j1UJgMKVJqDfMUJWbX_Zq2gZg0GupDk6vObF32aQnvN91y6qMM/s1600/Slide-_patinadors-Jaca-P1030985.jpg" height="261" width="320" /></a></div>
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Crossing my fingers for the two Javiers didn't work at all. Hopefully the Spanish ice dancers will have a better time of it.Corinnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09824827682737672167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4205375303791238394.post-10907508293150837552014-01-20T10:41:00.000-06:002014-01-20T10:41:57.503-06:00Escaping the Cold in Granada [Part 2]For some reason, and I'm not really sure where this came from, I went into Granada with the idea that I would enjoy seeing La Alhambra but that there wasn't really anything else in the city to interest me.<br />
<br />
I was certainly proven wrong on that count.<br />
<br />
LA ALHAMBRA<br />
<br />
Is amazing, of course. We spent 6 hours inside and still didn't manage to see everything.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoNmoddV4WYpmVNrDBHmg-oQceIBm3_l5QmIDKVRyFwH8mr7wRocormRcIL27iru8tjBhCUjeLGgg2oEhx0biaTH1Y14tRpoXFWH4hWBlIJCTadu3AOyQ74j_8vahYuwOjNjVIeQ6ydFge/s1600/Christmas+in+Spain+313.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoNmoddV4WYpmVNrDBHmg-oQceIBm3_l5QmIDKVRyFwH8mr7wRocormRcIL27iru8tjBhCUjeLGgg2oEhx0biaTH1Y14tRpoXFWH4hWBlIJCTadu3AOyQ74j_8vahYuwOjNjVIeQ6ydFge/s1600/Christmas+in+Spain+313.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>The Alhambra palaces.</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
One of the best parts - our Welsh BFF that we met while waiting in the line to get into the palaces. My mom was reading something from her Rick Steves travel guide [by the end of the trip, we were teasing her about her attachment to "Rick"] about one of the Muslim rulers of the city who was driven out by Christians in the 1100s or something. He was lamenting its loss, and his mom told him, "If you had defended the city like a man, then you wouldn't be crying like a woman now."<br />
<br />
The man in front of us turned around laughing at that, and we talked with him and his daughter-in-law until we got into the palace. This guy was the quintessential Welshman, with his ruddy cheeks and
round belly and brilliant accent. [Really he would make a perfect Santa
Claus.] Apparently, my sister's middle name, which is a Welsh family name, is spelled differently than it would be in Wales. Somewhere or another, someone stuck an extra "n" on it. Although, it could also have been abbreviated from something else when the family emigrated. Who knows?<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjVk7QV1abwK_qoLZiwbUTEDkiQ8oAOggtknQ9nN5FWbcc2IkBlM-Upr_o5aaugHSXra3ppnfyEXmy_x8WLRasoyAEbx7PAhQk4_L9UQxjNnml9KMyMhek13Nww-zCmWe0DJKp3oORDkos/s1600/Christmas+in+Spain+162.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjVk7QV1abwK_qoLZiwbUTEDkiQ8oAOggtknQ9nN5FWbcc2IkBlM-Upr_o5aaugHSXra3ppnfyEXmy_x8WLRasoyAEbx7PAhQk4_L9UQxjNnml9KMyMhek13Nww-zCmWe0DJKp3oORDkos/s1600/Christmas+in+Spain+162.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Gardens everywhere.</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Later, we caught up with them again in the baths section of the palace. I can't for the life of me remember what sparked this question, but our Welsh friend was trying to think of a name for some famous quote or something. So he asked, "Who's that famous American satirist? From the 19th Century?"<br />
<br />
My thought: Johnathan Swift wrote satire, but he wasn't American, was he?<br />
<br />
My dad's answer: Jon Stewart [he missed the 19th Century bit]<br />
<br />
My sister's answer: Me!<br />
<br />
Actual answer: Mark Twain<br />
<br />
We lagged behind them after that, since we were listening to the audio guides, and didn't manage to run into them again. Really, it was surprising that we were in the same part of the complex at the same time twice. It's obviously super famous but no one ever told me it was so <i>big</i>. We started in the palaces, because you have to reserve the time slot to enter them [hence the line], then wandered through the palace gardens. After that, we took a hot chocolate break and said hello to some cats.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwdJoHIYbbLetzL7IUuK-npdvxUSgJBkMiRVrlPIk5i_JCtV3ELRNmnq41eqm0YW5PzTaowMBM5pgJh5IUoDNNdwL5CzHBpcFBH2AxherHiA56o9e6CCAIj6BKGoR-m6K5CsQUpc8aSAfw/s1600/Christmas+in+Spain+202.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwdJoHIYbbLetzL7IUuK-npdvxUSgJBkMiRVrlPIk5i_JCtV3ELRNmnq41eqm0YW5PzTaowMBM5pgJh5IUoDNNdwL5CzHBpcFBH2AxherHiA56o9e6CCAIj6BKGoR-m6K5CsQUpc8aSAfw/s1600/Christmas+in+Spain+202.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Camera shy. To be fair, there were several of us taking pictures.</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Then there's a second palace built by the Holy Roman Emperor Charles with a lovely little art museum inside. And <i>then</i> we toured the original fortress part of the complex which was probably my favorite part. There were some great views of the city from the tops of the towers. [Which, according to the audio guide, were rounded to better defend against cannons.]<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinAGrO9LOiPXbtg1xbp0bUPuE3WFGRez9EBmbA3BMezUKyuK3TPw1rWridf3_SaA3B5calEZK_x00trQrRlN-pgGe7zkfU2USTDS_AZWejfLaipKLNGfhVSVlh-7UJqPAXgs7oL9oZR9RJ/s1600/Christmas+in+Spain+211.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinAGrO9LOiPXbtg1xbp0bUPuE3WFGRez9EBmbA3BMezUKyuK3TPw1rWridf3_SaA3B5calEZK_x00trQrRlN-pgGe7zkfU2USTDS_AZWejfLaipKLNGfhVSVlh-7UJqPAXgs7oL9oZR9RJ/s1600/Christmas+in+Spain+211.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>The new palace.</b></span></td></tr>
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By the time we got back towards the entrance, passing the public baths, a church, the ruins of the medina <i>and</i> the monastery where Isabel I and husband were originally buried, we were too exhausted to walk through the rest of the gardens. Also it was 3:00 and we hadn't eaten lunch. So we went to an Italian place called Bacchus Romano and my baby sister had her first [non-alcoholic] shot.<br />
<br />
LA CIUDAD<br />
<br />
I find it difficult to put into words exactly <i>why</i> I enjoyed Granada so much. The architecture and the warmth and the food were delicious, but I could say that about the other places I visited too. We didn't really even spend a lot of time there; even leaving Soria early in the morning, we didn't arrive until around 5 in the afternoon. And then it probably took another 30 minutes of being led through tiny alleys by our GPS, narrowly avoiding hitting buildings, to make it to our hotel.<br />
<br />
The next day was entirely devoted to the Alhambra. After seeing it, we went to an overlook to look at it again. And then the last morning - and only because I begged - we delayed leaving until we had gone to see the Cathedral, which had closed by the time we left the overlook the night before. It was incredible. I unfortunately didn't get any good pictures of the exterior because it was a bit rainy that morning.<br />
<br />
I suppose it could have been the realization of all the <i>history</i> that happened in Granada that makes me remember it so fondly. For someone as obsessed with the subject as myself, there's really a lot of Spanish history that I'm lacking on. And of course, I'm going to be relying on TV to help me fix that. [I <i>also </i>plan on going to the library to find some Spanish historical fiction. Assuming that I ever make it over there.]<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGLHT0E3V8KMKD0iH68t19q9bf0nnyv3yeED3EARYDrMghGRIwTCEP9p6Et8XtBu2Enmnej4KZhYPq034IG0Rnb-wxCO73EfoxMh3YMkiPelUegQTT7fs6laKNEunXLZvAlVTQ-EVp4n_w/s1600/isabel+y+fernando.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGLHT0E3V8KMKD0iH68t19q9bf0nnyv3yeED3EARYDrMghGRIwTCEP9p6Et8XtBu2Enmnej4KZhYPq034IG0Rnb-wxCO73EfoxMh3YMkiPelUegQTT7fs6laKNEunXLZvAlVTQ-EVp4n_w/s1600/isabel+y+fernando.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Source: http://trasladosgranada.semfyccongresos.com/monumentos</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Like, for instance, Isabel and Ferdinand are now buried in the Royal Chapel next to the Granada Cathedral, after their grandson Emperor Charles moved them there. And their daughter Juana and her husband are buried there too. Isabel is extra popular in Spain at the moment thanks to a little TV show about her, which is why I said we <i>had</i> to go to the Cathedral before we left.<br />
<br />
I find it truly amazing to visit the same places that she would have, to visit these places who have so many important "ghosts" who walked inside their walls hundreds of years ago.Corinnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09824827682737672167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4205375303791238394.post-38311483109887039142014-01-09T10:35:00.000-06:002014-01-09T10:35:20.482-06:00Christmas in Spain [Part 1]As luck would have it, Soria picked the worst day of the year to be rainy and gross: Christmas Eve, also known as the day my parents and sisters arrived in Spain.<br />
<br />
I checked the weather report constantly in the days leading up to Christmas, hoping that the forecast would magically change and it would be beautiful and warm, but alas. I managed to give them a quick tour of downtown before lunch when it was only slightly drizzling [mostly because I failed to make it to the grocery store before they got in and dragged them along with me, but still].<br />
<br />
That evening, however, I made the ultimately poor decision to take them on a walk along the river to see the monastery and hermitage. When we set out [after my dad and I woke everyone else up from their naps], it was still pretty light outside and just drizzling. We walked up to San Juan de Duero...and it was closed.<br />
<br />
Ah, hindsight. It should have immediately been clear to me that if the monastery were closed, the hermitage would be also. But I suppose I was too excited by my family's arrival and the prospect of showing them around "my" city to consider such things. And so we started the trek to San Saturio.<br />
<br />
This is normally a nice walk along the river. However, we weren't even halfway there when the rain intensified. A sign to turn back? If so, I ignored it. I had on the new boots I bought myself on Cyber Monday, so my feet were cozy and dry, and my coat kept me plenty warm. It took a little longer for me to notice how bedraggled my poor family looked, with the rain pelting their faces and the wind blowing back their umbrellas.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlDqz5BWR0bXWcAVRa2neMqG0rJQHcUeHsnKI2CTrr1iJAkMAs2g9vv6XjqZzFYwRq7CPY0jG4R0WFHkZlKqsoWfhYnYT8g06P4PNn4SJop8pts1g5-MJgecrqDBSzgtCLBPWtjJLi2r-I/s1600/Wet+Christmas+Eve.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlDqz5BWR0bXWcAVRa2neMqG0rJQHcUeHsnKI2CTrr1iJAkMAs2g9vv6XjqZzFYwRq7CPY0jG4R0WFHkZlKqsoWfhYnYT8g06P4PNn4SJop8pts1g5-MJgecrqDBSzgtCLBPWtjJLi2r-I/s1600/Wet+Christmas+Eve.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>We ended up getting so soaked that we had to pull out the drying rack when we got back.</b></span></td></tr>
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I guess I'm more accustomed to the cold than I thought.<br />
<br />
We finally stopped when they could at least see the hermitage, which pretty obviously had no lights on, so that our long walk wouldn't have been completely in vain. And then we walked home, I made a big pot of soup and several hot chocolates, and introduced my little sister to my favorite telenovela.<br />
<br />
The next day, in my opinion at least, made up for the poor weather on the first. We had a late breakfast and opened presents. We saw some snow flurries outside while eating our Christmas lunch, probably the first time I have actually seen snow on Christmas Day. And then we had a wonderful, clear afternoon to take a long walk in the park, visit a couple of churches, and buy a dozen churros [my sister's go-to dessert on the trip]. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivkfKMIq_wWoG1hRmEKpKXTMBVp6PxtooF4OEMymDvtddxeUIDQGoBMiX4rFfuxSaj81rkvJ4ZMMMQ8eFPrRPqNgIO7VgLsDeIEv8x1sPThPtSGZvOr4pmVBQA2BDH_SYmWC8Cd8TlU7yk/s1600/Christmas+in+Spain+024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivkfKMIq_wWoG1hRmEKpKXTMBVp6PxtooF4OEMymDvtddxeUIDQGoBMiX4rFfuxSaj81rkvJ4ZMMMQ8eFPrRPqNgIO7VgLsDeIEv8x1sPThPtSGZvOr4pmVBQA2BDH_SYmWC8Cd8TlU7yk/s1600/Christmas+in+Spain+024.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Goofing off in the park, because that's what family is for.</b></span></td></tr>
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Oh, and the thing I'm most proud of? Besides finding Christmas gifts for everyone without the help of gift cards and wish lists, I was really proud that I managed to find places for us to park the rental car without getting it towed or ticketed.<br />
<br />
Stayed tuned for the day I eventually write about the rest of our/my trip: Granada, Sevilla, Madrid, Valencia, and a hint of Zaragoza.Corinnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09824827682737672167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4205375303791238394.post-27298972098415747322014-01-05T13:54:00.000-06:002014-01-05T13:54:07.508-06:00Home Sweet HomeToday concluded a whirlwind 11 days of traveling through Spain, the first half with my wonderful family and the second by myself. I've accumulated a lot of pictures [definitely ran out of memory on my camera] and stories and receipts, some of which I'll share with the Internet soon. [Not the receipts. That would be boring.]<br />
<br />
But I'm a wee bit tired at the moment. Unfortunately for me, I rarely manage to sleep in buses or cars or trains so I missed out on several prime napping opportunities. So the actual this-is-what-I-did-on-vacation posts will be written...later.<br />
<br />
As much as I lovelovelove traveling, it was <i>verrrrry</i> nice to walk down familiar streets and through the door of my apartment. I'm actually glad to be getting back into my routine of work and relaxation. Don't get me wrong - in two weeks I will be eagerly anticipating our next long weekend and the possibility of going somewhere new. But now I just want to be home.<br />
<br />
And not just "home" in Spain. Walking through my apartment, I saw the shampoo bottle one of my sisters left in the bathroom. I saw the Christmas presents that my family brought me [they brought the most perfect gifts]. I saw the homemade paper Christmas tree that I had set on the table as a centerpiece for our family meals.<br />
<br />
Feeling sentimental, I grabbed my computer and my hymnal - that my family brought for me from home because it didn't fit in my suitcase in September - and settled down on the couch to check email, upload pictures, etc.<br />
<br />
I was doing all right with all my emotions until I decided to open my hymnal.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ2s2ntnQ_hvwetRoVxOHME7TBOkaDPeAtGNmOY_23QNEp7qcQ83pcFoTgCrmOtXlXpPzgYeDC28DBWPNTkxOPSGDePwDcwYnCN75RkM-6aN3g5ACpSIcVsPJ3I3BaOKXDpKy6hooozkSs/s1600/IMG_0505.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ2s2ntnQ_hvwetRoVxOHME7TBOkaDPeAtGNmOY_23QNEp7qcQ83pcFoTgCrmOtXlXpPzgYeDC28DBWPNTkxOPSGDePwDcwYnCN75RkM-6aN3g5ACpSIcVsPJ3I3BaOKXDpKy6hooozkSs/s320/IMG_0505.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Number 280</b></span></td></tr>
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[Gosh, even just writing about it an hour later makes me tear up...]<br />
<br />
I have just a few hymn numbers memorized after years of hymn sings and church services. Amazing Grace is one of them, and one of maybe two songs that I have entirely memorized.<br />
<br />
So naturally, when I saw which page I had randomly turned to, I started bawling.<br />
<br />
[I'm glad that I came back a day early so my roommate isn't here to witness my crying because I would have a bit of trouble right now explaining it in Spanish.]<br />
<br />
I have wanted to leave home for <i>years</i>. I cannot even pinpoint when exactly this urge to travel and live somewhere else began. I never, ever felt homesick at camps or church trips; I didn't really miss home during the six weeks that I was in Peru.<br />
<br />
But now that I've been gone for over 3 months, and just had a fabulous visit from my family, I can't stop thinking about all the things I <i>do</i> love about home - all the things I'm missing.<br />
<ul>
<li>Christmas carols and hymns</li>
<li>Spending time with my grandparents and cousins and aunts and uncles</li>
<li>Being at my church, where I know the structure and the people and the songs</li>
<li>King Cake [I'm not even joking. I've been craving a legit New Orleans style King Cake for a whole month, since I hear/see stuff about the Three Kings <i>everywhere</i>.]</li>
<li>Driving my car</li>
<li>Petting my cat</li>
<li>Seeing friends at our 5 year high school reunion [And oh my goodness I can't believe we graduated four and a half years ago.]</li>
</ul>
I will finally admit to it. I am homesick. I'm glad to be back in Soria - I absolutely love it here - but I desperately want to be home as well. I feel like I've been cut in half, and I can only keep one half satisfied at a time. No matter where I am, no matter what I do, I'm going to be missing out on something. I'm going to be wishing I were somewhere else.<br />
<br />
And when I'm not boo-hooing about it, I'm really annoyed. Annoyed that I have to pick between two things I love, annoyed that I'm sad right after a fantastic trip, and mostly annoyed that teleportation hasn't been invented yet because that would solve all my problems.<br />
<br />
So if someone wants to go ahead and make me a teleportation device, I would be super grateful. I might even share my Poptarts, because I have two whole boxes of them now :)<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWLfG6fLSJ8U8m0cprIza2ka241XqYjR3hkVMCh05-PXVc8p_MDc7ToVI2kQo8_X-SJcOmSCiPR7ahsIF9V7XHO_BMRRzeVTXwEWm993Lf7l8BnOsjxM-WWDtiQAHSXPKsIfDwYbFRa9oD/s1600/IMG_0713.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWLfG6fLSJ8U8m0cprIza2ka241XqYjR3hkVMCh05-PXVc8p_MDc7ToVI2kQo8_X-SJcOmSCiPR7ahsIF9V7XHO_BMRRzeVTXwEWm993Lf7l8BnOsjxM-WWDtiQAHSXPKsIfDwYbFRa9oD/s320/IMG_0713.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Feliz 2014! Happy New Year, everyone.</b></span></td></tr>
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Corinnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09824827682737672167noreply@blogger.com0